


Curtain's Fall: Dress Rehearsal

by omphalos, Wolfling



Series: Of Old Mystics [8]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Epic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Other, Post-Canon, Romance, Schmoop, Sex Magic, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfling/pseuds/Wolfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preparations and plans for things that no-one actually wants...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of Old Mystics was originally published in regular instalments between May 2003 - March 2005. The story began some months after the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, season 7. Curtain's Fall is the fifth and final volume of the epic saga, and it's so long we split it into five unequal sections. This is part two, Dress Rehearsal.

Rupert made his way deeper into the Forbidden Woods, weapon held at the ready. Behind him, he heard his trusty steed, Prince, nicker softly from where he'd left him tethered.

"Sorry, boy," he murmured under his breath. "I can't take you with me. It's too dangerous. You'd just be a quick snack for Tiamat."

He didn't dwell on what Tiamat could do to him; that wasn't important. Someone had to stop her before she razed the entire countryside, and that someone was going to be Rupert, the, um –he looked down at what he was wearing– the _green_ knight.

Gripping his sword tighter, Rupert continued down the path, every sense alert. He paused at a bend in the path; around that curve lay the dragon's den. Around that curve lay his destiny. Rupert took a deep breath and then, with a fierce battle cry on his lips and sword held high, he ran around the bend to confront...

"Hello, child." It had six legs, four swirling eyes, and its smaller set of nostrils flared as it looked down from far above upon the unfortunate knight. "Would that by any chance be your father's best short sword in your hand?"

"Gra-annnn!" Rupert put his hands on his hips and glared at the dragon. "Stop with the 'llusions!"

There was a flicker of air around the... thing, and Harriet Giles was looking down at Rupert from on top of her horse, Paladin. Her stern expression was spoilt somewhat by the slightest of smiles curving the corners of her mouth.

"You can't fool me. I'm not a little kid, y'know," he told her with righteous indignation. "I can tell when it's you."

"And what else can you tell, oh wise one?" His grandmother's gaze moved from Rupert's face to his hand and the weapon it held.

Rupert raised his chin defiantly. "That you can't vanquish Tiamat with a wooden sword."

"I find it highly unlikely that you could vanquish primordial chaos with a metal one either. Even Marduk required all his wiles as a thunder-god to subdue her." Gran lifted herself in the saddle and dismounted.

"I have wiles," Rupert insisted, pouting.

"In which case, you hardly need your father's sword, do you?" She held her gloved hand out, ready to receive it.

With a huge sigh, Rupert handed it over. "I wouldn't have to borrow it if he'd give me one of my own."

"On your tenth birthday, you know that." She was resolute as ever as she took the blade from him. "It's not long now. The scabbard?"

"Back on Prince's saddle," he said, sighing again. "You going to tell him?"

"Are you going to tell him," she corrected, trying the sword in her hands for weight and balance as she'd taught Rupert to do. "That depends very much on you, my lad."

Rupert thought about pointing out to Gran that blackmail was a crime, but then she just might tell his father regardless. "What do I have to do?" he asked, giving in, defeated.

She studied him in that way that always made him shuffle his feet restlessly. "You're a sensible child, despite current evidence to the contrary. You know your father's things are dangerous and not toys, under any circumstances. Can I trust that from now on you will remember this fact?"

Rupert looked down at his feet. He wanted to argue, but knew from experience that wouldn't get him anywhere except standing in front of his father for a much more... intense version of this same lecture. "I promise," he finally said grudgingly.

"Make me believe it, Rupert."

"I'm not lying," he protested, looking up, a little anger flaring in his voice with the denial. "But you can't expect enthusiasm."

"What I expect really isn't up to you to define, but in this particular case, eye contact was all I required." She smiled at him more fully. "Well done. Now..." She handed him back the sword. "Go and put this back in the scabbard and then perhaps Marduk and Tiamat could have a magical duel. Whoever loses has to sneak the sword back into the Great God Ea's study." She winked at him.

Rupert grinned back, his bad feelings forgotten. "I'll be right back, and Marduk can boot Tiamat's ar– tail all over creation."

He ran off, eager to get that done so they could start playing. This was going to be far better than he had hoped for. He'd take playing with Gran over playing with his father's sword any day.

***

_I continue to be both impressed and slightly concerned at Rupert's growing proficiency with his power. Although obviously my own still exceeds his comfortably, I had to set my limits considerably higher than normal for someone of his age, even in this family, in order to give Marduk a convincing 'win' over the dread Tiamat._

_These concerns aside, however, my Grandson is a delight, and I confess I am not anticipating with much pleasure the day he'll start at the Academy. I wish I could tell him to enjoy his freedom while he still can, but no, it would do more harm than good to do so._

Giles watched as Ethan lowered the journal and paused to look up from the floor where he was sitting, surrounded by books from Harriet Giles' chest. Ethan had taken over reading the entries aloud after he'd caught Giles skipping over sections that were, frankly, rather embarrassing. "You really were an insufferably cute brat, dearheart," Ethan told him, smirking. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"And I suppose you never played some version of slay the dragon when you were young?" Giles asked from the window seat, trying to direct the conversation away from how 'cute' and 'precocious' he'd been. Not that he wasn't enjoying hearing his Gran's thoughts on him and the mischief he used to get up to; he was. In some ways, it was like getting one last chance to talk with her. He just wished it wasn't giving Ethan quite so much teasing material.

"My dragons were all a bit too real," Ethan said with a self-effacing eye-roll. "But perhaps I did and have simply forgotten. Do you want more of the Amazing Adventures of Knight Rupert and his Noble Steed, or shall we jump a year or so and see if we can find references to your Gran's first meeting with Coven types?"

"If that translates into getting away from a recital of every embarrassing thing I did as a boy, then by all means."

Ethan flicked forward through the pages of the journal he was holding, but then put it on the floor in order to pick up a different one, seemingly at random. As he opened this, he asked casually, "Have you actually told Ian about all this yet? I mean, I know he was told that your Gran had mentioned Vaurtain, but does he know the extent of the information potentially available to us here?"

"I haven't mentioned the journals to anyone bar you," Giles replied, trying to match Ethan's casual tone. It was a decision he had made without looking too closely at his reasons, other than knowing the thought of revealing their existence to others felt... wrong.

"Much though I adore my worthy mentor, his continued closed mouth tactic when I know he has more he could tell us is a little aggravating to say the least. We should capture him one night, and you can use some of your torture expertise upon him. He'll tell us everything." Ethan winked up at Giles.

Giles grinned. "You just want to watch Ian and me together."

"Well, the thought of someone else having to endure your version of a cock-ring is certainly pleasurable." Ethan flicked through some pages, but apparently found nothing relevant. "So you don't want to tell him about the journals?"

"Not yet. I..." Giles trailed off as he tried to explain his answer, but in the end could only come up with, "It feels wrong. Gran left these for me, for us. I think we're the ones who are supposed to look through them."

Ethan nodded, apparently accepting that without further question. "I won't say a word until you give the word."

Giles relaxed, relieved that the argument he'd been bracing for wasn't going to happen. "Thank you."

There was silence as Ethan continued to browse, but then Giles saw him sit up straighter. "Hmm, well, I have possibly jumped ahead a little too far, but this is relevant. Listen..."

_Lucy Harkness came again today. Really, the persistence of that young woman bewilders me, but if this is truly a war of attrition, I fear my siege walls are falling. My own research, following the clues she's previously given me, has proven sufficient of her 'facts' to force me to consider that the rest may well be true as well._

_My poor boy._

_I have found several supporting references to the 'Guardians of Equilibrium' or similar phrases, enough to be reasonably confident that such pairs have been born within the world cyclically every few generations. Lucy says things are speeding up now. That, I have not yet been able to verify._

_Over millennia, these pairs of mages have helped protect the world, if not all of existence, from threats from both sides of the Chaos/Order axis, but the Coven insists that the greatest threat for many centuries is now faced by the world, faced by my grandson if the appalling things they tell me are true. And this threat is Chaos-based._

_The dark god, Vaurtain, he of many ancient names and myths, seeks to escape his dimensional prison. This much, while not common knowledge, is easily double-checked within the deepest vaults of the Council's library, and so I have done. According to the Coven, unrelated events forecast for the end of the century will weaken the walls to our dimension sufficiently to allow him to push his way in._

_He will want revenge on those who jailed him, and without the Guardians, Lucy says, the world will soon cease to be a place that can support life._

_I have decided to drive down to Devon next week and talk to the Coven seer. There must be more she can tell me. In the meantime, I will write to Rupert and urge him to put his back into his studies. His father has received some disturbing reports from Oxford. I know it is natural for young men to rebel, but now is not a good time._

Ethan looked up. "On the contrary, I'd say your timing was perfect."

"I remember the letter she sent me," Giles said, dropping a hand to rest briefly on Ethan's hair. "I thought my father had put her up to it, pulling out all the stops to get me to tow the line as a proper young Watcher-in-training."

Turning over a few pages, Ethan made an impatient noise. "There's no entry for when she was actually at Devon at all. There's a longish one here though, which seems to have been made shortly after she got back to London."

Giles frowned. "If she waited until she was back to London to make an entry, she probably was either told something she wanted to verify first, or something that affected her so much that she needed some distance before recording it." He leant forward to try to read over Ethan's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"She's not at her most coherent," Ethan commented, but he took a deep breath and started...

_It's all true. For Rupert's sake, I have to accept that. He is one-half of the latest pair of Guardians, and God save him from the fate of that poor man, Ian, whom I met while I was away. Seven years should be enough to recover from any bereavement, surely, yet the poor wretch seemed barely lucid in his bewildered misery and loss._

_I'm told Ian was tricked by an agent of Chaos in a way that somehow led to his partner falling hundreds of feet. Judging by the look in Ian's eyes, barely a minute goes past without him seeing his lover's broken body and blaming himself._

Ethan came to a broken halt and bowed his head. Giles could see Ethan's knuckles were white where his hands grasped the book.

Dear lord. Giles could picture it so clearly, Gran's words combining with his memories of Buffy's death to play out like a movie in his head. Except it wasn't Derek or Buffy he saw falling, it was Ethan. Needing the comfort of touching his lover, Giles tugged on Ethan's arm until he'd crawled up onto the window seat and into Giles' arms, still holding tightly to the journal.

"Oh God, it hurts," Ethan muttered, pushing his face against Giles. "How does he go on? I keep asking him; I..." He didn't continue.

"He goes on because he has to." It was easy to say, but the emotions it represented had never been so clear. Or painful. Giles tightened his grip on Ethan.

"Why does he have to?" Ethan's question sounded almost childish in its confusion. "I wouldn't have done. Even with you still alive I got dangerously close to deathwish-fulfilment more times than I care to remember."

"Because the Coven found him in time and gave him something to hold onto, something he needed to stay alive for." He tilted Ethan's face back so he could meet his eyes. "You. Us, but mostly you."

Ethan's eyes were dark and liquid. "Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"That he valued you enough to stay to help you?"

The noise that came from Ethan then wasn't what Giles would consider laughter by any stretch of the imagination. "He didn't know me to value me, only what I am... would be. For, what –thirty? Thirty-five?– years, he has been suffering because of me."

"He hasn't just been suffering," Giles said, certain of that, turning the whole idea of Ian over in his mind. "I'm sure that Ian misses Derek still, and the pain of living without him is always going to be there, but Ian's life has been more than that. It's been... magic, and learning, and teaching, and friends and evenings of laughter and drinking and music. It's been a life, even if it had to be alone. And the thought of you gave him the strength to have that."

Ethan pursed his lips tightly shut and twisted his head away from Giles' fingers. Giles frowned and thought that he'd have to soothe and encourage him further, but then Ethan straightened up. "Thank you," he said quietly, seriously, watching his own fingers move over the pages of the journal. "Shall I go on?"

Giles leant in and kissed Ethan, long and lingeringly, needing that contact before he sat back and nodded. "What else does she have to say?"

Ethan swallowed, lifted the book, and read on...

_I do not know how I can best protect my grandson from either death or a hell of loss. It shames me to admit that I briefly considered seeking out his prospective partner and... No, I cannot even write it here. Needless to say, that ambition lasted no longer than a few desperate minutes, but every saner idea that has come to my mind has been immediately disregarded by the Coven._

_They know. They have seen. Rupert and his partner must be kept separate until the millennium turns. That is the only way they will both survive. The only way the world has a hope against Vaurtain._

_Do I believe them? I've had to accept everything else they've claimed, so why balk here? Thirty years, almost, I'm meant to keep Rupert single. He will despise me; he will rail against me. And what if they're wrong?_

_I have no one I can talk to about this, no one to help me make decisions for my grandson. The Coven forbids me to speak to him about this, and his parents would not accept the word of the Coven, so I cannot speak to them either. The Council... It galls me to say it, but I do not want to see Rupert treated like a Slayer._

_In desperation, I went to the little chapel in Bromgrove and spoke to God as I have not done since I was a little girl. I will not say that I discovered wisdom or reached an epiphany, but I did find a certain sense of calm._

_I wonder if this is how Judas felt when he pulled the short straw._

Ethan turned another page and shrugged. "That's that for now. The next entry deals with some friend of hers on the Council who was pregnant, apparently unwisely."

Giles remained quiet, thinking over his gran's words. He found himself much more in sympathy with her than he had been; far too many of her thoughts and fears were ones he'd faced himself to feel otherwise. More than anything, more now than ever before, he wished he could speak with her.

With that startling intuition that they so often had for each other's thoughts these days, Ethan asked softly, "Where is she buried?"

"There's a family plot at St Leonard's in the village. All the Gileses are buried there. I suspect there's still a place reserved for me if I want it." He glanced at Ethan. "As well as one for my spouse, which would be you." He couldn't resist a tiny smile; wouldn't that cause several of the more conservative of his relatives to rotate where they lay?

"Would you like to visit her? All of them?" Ethan made a wistful noise. "I hope Matthew manages to continue the line for you." He chuckled softly. "Perhaps with Pamela."

"He does appear to be rather smitten by her, doesn't he?" Giles smiled, happy to see some good come for his cousin out of the upheaval they'd brought with them.

"And she transforms into a blushing teenage girl around him. It's rather droll." Ethan snorted. "And I daresay, sweet."

"Don't you go teasing them too much," Giles warned with a mock-frown. "If Pamela gets riled at you, I have to deal with the fallout."

There was a wicked look in Ethan's eye. "She's always wanted a Giles for herself; funny how things work out."

"Yes, comments like that, you should keep to yourself."

"I got the better one. By far." Ethan stuck his tongue out.

Giles took the opportunity to lean in and nip at Ethan's tongue as he kissed him. "And I've been lucky enough to get something unique. If a bit naughty and outrageous at times."

"Naughty sounds just right," Ethan said as Giles pulled back after the kiss. "Shall we take a breather and stretch out on the bed a while? Tiring work, reading." He winked at Giles encouragingly while stretching his arms in an exaggerated yawn.

Giles was seriously tempted. Ethan had a point, going through his gran's journals was emotionally exhausting, but it had taken him so much time to work up to doing this, he didn't want to lose that momentum now. "Maybe in a little bit," he finally said, with a regretful smile. "I... we should keep going while we can."

Lips pursed in disappointment, Ethan nonetheless didn't argue. He slipped back down to the floor and swapped the journal he'd been reading from for a near identical brown leather covered book. "Let's see what this one has..."

It amused Giles to see Ethan so focused and diligent about research. Even in his attempt to force a break, Ethan had given in far easier than Giles would have predicted, but Ethan was changing just as surely as Giles himself was, and Giles loved him all the more for those changes.

Reaching down, he ran gentle fingers through Ethan's hair in a light caress. "Thank you," he murmured softly.

"You're welcome," was the equally quiet reply. Ethan turned pages for a while, eventually changing journals again, but presently he found something worth clearing his throat for. "She went to Rome," he said. "Called in favours to gain access to the Vatican archives. Not a woman to be underestimated, was she?"

Giles chuckled. "No one ever got away with telling her 'no' that I can remember."

"Oh." Ethan tensed and studied the book hard. "Listen to this..."

_I have learnt today what it is that the boys are meant to protect in their pre-destined roles. The 'balance' or 'equilibrium' of their variously worded titles is not just a concept; it's a thing. In fact, if I am to believe what I have translated today, it's a thing in concrete existence somewhere within our dimension. I've a feeling that not even the Coven know what my obsessive research has now discovered, and God forgive me, but I'm not inclined to share._

_The Byzantine document I found, deep in the basements of the Vatican, was amongst many similar manuscripts in the same hand, scribed apparently by a monk who worked all his life in a Constantinople leprosarium. His name was Bartholomus, and the little I can discover about him suggests he was a seer of some note. He endured the 'falling sickness', epilepsy, and during his fits, he saw visions. The Church seems to have taken his sight very seriously and kept him protected from secular parties._

_Only one of the many manuscripts, written in ink with limited decorative illumination, seems relevant to my research. It refers to the 'Great Bear', one of the ancient ones, who will arise thrice and be expelled thrice before his fourth and final battle. Earth's defenders during this last war will be the 'Arch-guardians of the Third Millennium'. They will battle with the Great Bear for dominion over the 'word of God', using it to free the 'Prisoner in the Void'. Elsewhere the void is referred to as the 'heart of the labyrinth'._

_I'm not certain what the 'word of God' could be, although the Gnostic 'Logos' is an obvious correlation, but it's described in these texts as being hidden, and we are told it must be 'revealed in Truth' before it can free the Prisoner._

_That was all the document contained, but it has given me much to ponder and further research._

_Whether these arch-guardians are indeed Rupert and his Ethan, or a pair that will come after them, I cannot, of course, be certain. But as the Coven believe my boys destined to fight Vaurtain, who was among other things the great bear god of the Ancient Dytriscans, I think it reasonable to hypothesise this prophecy refers to them._

_I can only hope more will become clear in time. As for now, I remain both mystified and unnerved by my time in Rome. These feelings, of course, have not been eased by today's encounter with Cardinal Euchenski. I am far from convinced I will still have access to the archives when I try again in the morning._

That last bit made Giles chuckle again; he could well imagine his gran taking on a Cardinal in the Vatican with her usual straightforwardness. As for the rest of it, it certainly confirmed what they already knew and added some new bits of information, but Giles found himself wanting to concentrate on the image of Gran taking some full-of-himself Cardinal down a peg or three for the moment.

"She didn't get back in," Ethan announced after browsing another few pages. "She flew home with no more information. Rupert–"

"I know," Giles replied, cutting Ethan off before he could say it. "I just... not yet."

Ethan started to say something further, but stopped himself. He sat quietly for a while then began to collect the journals together into a neat pile. "That's enough for today," he said firmly.

Giles nodded, still trying to avoid thinking about... "I should have let you distract us when you wanted to," he joked weakly.

"No," Ethan said firmly. "Whether we deal with it now or not, we had to know this, but we'll discuss it all another time." He stood and held out his hand to Giles. "Come on, husband dear. Let's find the dogs and make it up to them with a good long walk."

That pulled a small smile to Giles' lips despite everything. Lately, that was Ethan's answer whenever Giles was thrown an emotional curve ball, to use an American phrase. "You never used to be such an advocate of a good constitutional," he said as he took Ethan's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

"The wild calls to me," Ethan replied, his tone so pitched that it was hard to tell if he was serious or not. "Or maybe I'm just worried I'll get fat now Chaos isn't eating away at me."

Giles pulled Ethan into his arms and held him tightly. "You could use a bit more weight on you," he murmured, resting his face in the crook of Ethan's neck. "I don't want to be the only one battling middle aged spread, after all."

"Now come." Ethan's arms snaked around Giles, inevitably finding their way under clothing and over Giles' arse. "I wage that war at your side, bravely ensuring you never eat a full plate of food."

Giles chuckled at that, although it came out sounding... strange. "The sacrifices you make..." To his surprise, his voice cracked.

"Oh. Oh, my poor Ripper." Ethan's voice was rich with sympathy. He started pulling Giles towards the bed. "Come on, over here."

"I'm all right," he protested, but his voice still sounded strange to his own ears as he let Ethan tug him across the room. "I just... I don't–"

"You're upset, and you don't quite know it yet. Lay down with me. Come on." Ethan tugged him through the curtains and onto the heavy bedspread. Giles stopped protesting and just let Ethan make the decisions. He was doing his best not to think, but it didn't seem to be helping much.

Ethan settled him onto his back and lay beside him, stroking his chest soothingly. "We're going to have to talk about it, dearheart," he said sadly. "Repressing clearly isn't working for you today."

"It rarely does," Giles admitted wryly.

"Shall I start?" Giles didn't answer; he knew what they had to start with. Ethan sighed heavily and held Giles tightly before going on. "You are afraid, as am I, that we need Dawn in her innate pure form in order to win this battle of ours."

"That does seem to be what the information Gran gathered is saying," Giles said heavily.

"Yes. and while it will not destroy the Key –I doubt anything could do that– it would end the life of a very real girl, loved by many. Not to mention put us in direct opposition to her rather deadly sister. There. I've spoken the worst of it." There was an edge to Ethan's voice suggesting that he wasn't really that much more relaxed about the idea than Giles was.

"I had to counsel killing Dawn once before." Now that they were talking about it, Giles was growing calmer, the emotions automatically shoved down as he forced himself to deal with what had to be dealt with.

"To save the world from Glory?" Ethan rolled onto his back. "This is the sort of decision that makes me convinced I was never cut out to be on the side of the heroes. Choosing between a friend and saving the world – I rarely had friends, didn't care about the world. Rupert, how do we do this?"

Giles took a deep breath, settling in under the weight of this new knowledge and where and to what it might lead them. "First, we look for another way. Prophecies are not inviolate. They can and have been twisted and changed and still provide the outcome we are after. Also, we need verification. We must continue to read through the journals and elsewhere."

"And what if this prophecy _is_ inviolate? What then?"

Giles closed his eyes. His responsibility lay so heavily on him he was surprised the bed didn't collapse under the weight. "Then we do what we have to do."

There was a long silence from Ethan, ending eventually with, "I'll start researching how to... convert... the Key back to its natural form. In case all else fails, and we have to." Ethan sounded very detached, not exactly cold, but uninvolved. "It could take a while to work out, and we might not have that if or when our efforts to avoid this prophecy finally come to naught. I... I can't say I care for this feeling."

"Neither do I." Giles pulled Ethan into his arms and held on tightly. "I never have."

"Are you going to tell her?" Ethan asked after another long silence. "Er, that should possibly have been, are we going to tell her?"

"No," Giles said sharply. "Not until we... not until there's no other choice."

He felt Ethan nod against his chest. "Are we going to tell anyone?"

Giles shook his head. "There'll be no way to keep it from Dawn if we do."

Ethan pulled back enough to look Giles in the eye. "I... I know what Harriet meant about feeling like Judas. How are we meant to talk to Dawn, knowing this? To any of them?"

Giles sighed, feeling old and worn out. "All my life I've been faced with doing things others can't or won't. There isn't any trick to make it easier. You just do it because it has to be done, and there's no one else to do it. Even if it means lying to those you care about with a smile on your face."

Looking down, Ethan laughed darkly. "False face must hide what the false heart doth know," he quoted. "You wouldn't have thought lying with a smile on my face would pose me a problem, would you?"

"You've never been able to lie convincingly to me," Giles pointed out.

"I've been able to... obfuscate. Especially when your anger at me made you blind to more subtle cues."

"It's harder to lie when your heart is involved."

Ethan reverted to silence again, but Giles could hear so much unsaid between them, could feel Ethan... fretting. There was a sudden bang from somewhere in the house as someone shut a door too forcefully and that seemed to jolt Ethan out of his brooding. "Will you promise me something, Rupert?"

"What, love?"

"Don't suffer this, any of this, alone? Don't try to protect me. Share the load with me."

For all of their closeness, the request surprised Giles. "Even if the load is making you miserable?" he asked, reaching up and caressing Ethan's face.

"Who gave you the monopoly on misery, dear?" Ethan asked with a very ragged smile. "I demand my fair share, don't hog."

The only thing Giles could think to say to that was, "I really do love you."

Ethan almost let him get away with it, almost seemed to want to, but then he sighed, glanced briefly down, and then confronted Giles with, "You haven't promised."

"Were you always this stubborn, and I just never noticed in the old days?" Giles asked with a smile.

That got him a fondly exasperated look. "I've learnt from the best, and I'm still waiting."

Becoming serious again, Giles kissed Ethan gently. "I promise," he said. He just wished that sharing the load made it feel lighter.


	2. Chapter 2

Ethan laughed beside Giles as they walked through the meadows in the slight drizzle, watching the dogs chase after non-existent rabbits. "I don't know why the old phrase implies a dog's life is something miserable and hard. Seems to me, it's not so bad."

"Seems to me, you're right," Giles agreed, Gwydion and Skunk's antics drawing a smile from him. "It would be nice to live a life without prophecies and destinies always hanging over us, with nothing more to worry about than chasing the next rabbit."

"Carefree," Ethan said wistfully, perhaps remembering a time when he had been, more or less. "Letting tomorrow take care of itself."

"Trusting that there will be a tomorrow," Giles added with his own wistfulness. "Taking that for granted."

Ethan gave him an uneasy look. "Do you think we'll still have any friends when this is over?"

"I'll settle for everyone coming through this alive and sound."

They were both feeling rather glum. After the distressing revelations in his grandmother's journals yesterday, the morning had shown no improvement with an early call from Pamela in London, reporting an incident in Stevenage. The BBC was reporting it as a 'mass hallucination', possibly caused by a terrorist gas attack. What had really happened, as far as the initial Council investigations could uncover, was a short-term distortion of reality within a small area centred around a tower block estate. There was one fatality and many more injured, all in bizarre and no doubt terrifying ways.

The 'unravelling' predicted by the prophecy had started. Their time of respite was unarguably over.

"The Great Bear," Ethan said suddenly. "Did you notice how your gran confirmed that Vaurtain is the bear in Keri's prophecy?"

"Yes." It was easier to think about that part of what they'd found than... the other. "It all does seem to be falling into place no matter what we do, doesn't it?"

Ethan nodded. "There was that stuff about the labyrinth too, including a prisoner. Didn't Da–" He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Didn't Dawn say she thought we'd have to find someone or something in the maze?"

"She did," Giles confirmed, feeling it all close in on them again. As much as they tried to get away from it, even for just the length of a walk with the dogs, it was always there.

"Sorry," Ethan muttered after a few seconds.

Giles shook his head and reached for Ethan's hand. "Not your fault. By all rights, we should be hard at work putting together everything we've found out."

"Breaks are important," Ethan insisted, but as they hadn't actually started work since reading the journals yesterday, this wasn't so much a break as a delay. Ethan sighed. "You seemed so tense. I... I'm trying to look after you."

That touched Giles in a way that did push everything else into the background. "I know," he said, turning to Ethan and pulling him against him. "And that does make a difference. Truly."

Ethan wrapped his arms around Giles and gave him a wry look. "On the subject of work, there are books I need – books that I can only hope still exist within the ravaged Council library. Do I have your permission to call Pammy and ask for a loan?"

"Of course. You don't have to ask me for that."

"Aren't you still my boss?" Ethan managed to drag a coy and flirtatious look out from somewhere.

"Yes, but you have the ability to operate under your own initiative," Giles replied with a smile. "I prefer not to micromanage."

"I never did get my assistant," Ethan said wistfully. "Or my coffee machine."

"Last I checked, you haven't been fired. We'll be back at the offices when this is all over."

"Now there's something to look forward to." Ethan's tone was dry as dust, but he winked at Giles.

Giles smiled. "We should enjoy the wilderness here while we can."

Ethan nodded and started to look thoughtful. He brought one hand up between them and rubbed it over his mouth. "Hmm."

Giles knew that kind of look. "You're up to something."

"Thinking about it." After kissing Giles softly, Ethan continued, "Remember you said you wanted to be with me when I experimented further with my fox form?"

"I suppose that's as good a way as any to get away from it all for a bit." He still had mixed feelings about Ethan playing with the shapechanging, but he had promised he wouldn't interfere.

Ethan grinned, clearly cheering up at the thought. "I wonder how the dogs will take it."

"Hopefully you won't inspire them to think they're trained for the Hunt."

"Come on." Ethan tugged at Giles. "Let's find some tree cover."

"Feeling bashful about doing this out in the open?" Giles teased, even as they made their way out of the meadow area and up among the trees that encircled it.

"Me?" Ethan laughed, but then admitted, "Maybe."

"Finally found something you want to do in private, eh?" Giles' tone was still teasing, but he made sure to keep it gentle.

It may have still been only February, but some of the trees were already showing signs of going into bud, and the first of the wood anemones were poking up from within the dead leaves of last autumn. Squirrels skipped along branches above them, and Giles thought he caught sight of a jay. All these signs of spring would normally have cheered him, but whenever he saw them now he remembered Ian's words just before Christmas forecasting the rise of the enemy as life woke up once more in the earth.

Once safely away from the fields, Ethan stopped them both and turned to face Giles as he began to strip. He started slow and seductively, but quickly began to shiver. "Bugger that," he muttered, laughing, and took off the rest of his clothes much faster.

"Do you want me to see what I can do about warming...?" Giles asked, disliking Ethan suffering, even if it was just being cold.

Ethan shook his head as he handed his clothes to Giles and said through slightly chattering teeth, "I'll have a fur coat soon. Skunk!" He called his dog to him, and she came bounding through the undergrowth, her long fur covered in burrs and small pieces of twigs. "I want you to watch this, menace, so that you know it's me. Then you can stop the pit pony trying to eat me." He looked back up at Giles. "Ready, dearheart? We can still talk mentally, remember."

Giles fixed an image of Ethan –how he looked, how he sounded, how he felt– firmly in his mind, remembering how he'd had to lead Ethan back to himself the last time, then he nodded.

 _'It will be all right,'_ Ethan said in Giles' mind, and then his naked form wavered in front of Giles and fell forward onto hands and knees as it shrunk, leaving an animal not much larger than Skunk behind. Fox-Ethan looked considerably more healthy and glossy-coated than the last time Giles had seen the form. His muzzle opened, revealing small, sharp white teeth, and he gave a little bark, which was immediately and ebulliently answered by Skunk, who bounced around the fox, wagging her tail at great speed.

Despite his misgivings, Giles couldn't help but smile from amusement. "I think she likes you better now that you're the right size to play with."

 _'I'll play with her in a minute,'_ Ethan sent. He trotted forward and slinked sinuously around Giles' legs. _'Dump my clothes somewhere and pick me up?'_

Giles looked around and spotted a nearby fallen log on which he carefully laid Ethan's clothes. Then he looked down at the fox sitting at his feet and apparently grinning up at him. "What do things look like from that perspective?" he asked curiously, even as he bent and got a firm hold around Ethan's torso and lifted.

 _'Tall,'_ Ethan told him with a mental chuckle as he wriggled and settled into Giles' arms. He didn't weigh much, and his fur was dense and sleek to the touch. He looked up with his whiteless dark eyes and prodded Giles' cheek with his nose. _'Also colours are different in fox vision. Less vivid, only the really bright hues show as colour at all, and things aren't so clear generally. But that's more than made up for by scent. I can smell what you ate three breakfasts ago.'_

"If I recall correctly, that would have been you," Giles replied, absently scratching behind Ethan's ears as he would to Gwydion.

 _'Ah yes.'_ Ethan-fox licked Giles' face. _'See, I'm not so terrible like this, am I?'_

"I never said you were. I was just worried about you losing yourself in the animal."

_'That was a different situation, dearheart. This is not the same. You should let me turn you into a badger; then we could gambol.'_

Giles chuckled. "Just like an old folktale?"

 _'Yes.'_ There was another foxy kiss on his cheek. _'My hearing's powerful too like this. I could hear that laugh of yours from deep within your chest. I want to go hunt a rabbit.'_ Ethan's mental voice was becoming increasingly excited and happy, and he was squirming in Giles' arms.

"I seem to recall something about you and rabbits last time," Giles reminded him, shifting his grip so as not to drop him.

 _'I won't eat it.'_ Ethan wriggled up and put his forelegs on Giles' shoulder, panting quietly by his ear. _'Much.'_

"How about not at all?" Giles suggested. "You don't want rabbit breath later."

A rough animal tongue was pulled up Giles' ear. _'Be a badger with me, and we can both have rabbit breath.'_

Giles chuckled. "I'm not sure I want rabbit breath."

 _'Hmm, maybe badgers don't eat rabbits. Do you fancy a nice crunchy stag beetle instead? Oh, we could be really wicked and have interspecies sex. That'd be something scandalous we've never done before.'_ Ethan's mental sendings definitely had a different quality to them in this form. It wasn't the words so much as the speed at which they were said, the way he darted between subjects, and how he somehow managed to inject a wild excitement into his tone.

"Even as a fox you have a one track mind," Giles said, amused. "This shouldn't surprise me."

 _'I'm still me,'_ Ethan told him happily. Then twitched violently as a loud bark came from behind Giles – Gwydion, of course. The wolfhound set Skunk off, and for a few very noisy moments, a barking conversation was held. Ethan-fox whined aloud and sent, _'Have I mentioned my sensitive ears?'_

"Gwydion." When his dog stopped in mid-bark and looked up at him, Giles told him, "A bit quieter please. Skunk is not several fields away."

The dogs quietened obediently, and Skunk looked up at Ethan attentively. Giles gained the impression that some sort of communication was taking place, an impression increased when Skunk yapped once and then turned and trotted purposefully away from the little glade in which they stood.

"What did you tell her?" he asked Ethan curiously.

_'Tell who?'_

"Skunk."

 _'What makes you think I told her anything?'_ There was far too much humour in Ethan's mental tone for his attempt at innocence to succeed.

"Observation and experience," Giles replied in his driest of tones.

The fox made a strange noise that Giles only realised from Ethan's mental presence was meant to be a chuckle. _'I'm employing her in her working dog capacity.'_

Giles could see where this was going. "Tell me you didn't send her after a rabbit for you."

 _'All right,'_ Ethan sent agreeably. _'I won't tell you that.'_

"And what makes you think I'm going to let you eat it even if she does catch a rabbit for you?" He noticed Gwydion's head had picked up at the mention of 'rabbit'. "Oh, and you're going to start in as well?" Giles asked the dog.

Gwydion barked hopefully. Ethan said, _'She's merely locating rabbits. We can catch them ourselves. Let me turn you into a badger.'_

"You just want to turn me into a badger so I can't stop you from terrorising the local rabbit population." Giles eyed Gwydion warily. "Plus, I'm not sure Gwydion knows the difference between a rabbit and a badger."

 _'He's a wolfhound, not a badgerhound. Put me down and prepare to pull him off me? Oh, can you talk to him the way I do Skunk? Mentally, I mean, like this. I could see a problem otherwise.'_ Sharp fox teeth nibbled at Giles' earlobe.

"I don't know," he answered, looking down at Gwydion and trying to ascertain the dog's interest in Ethan the fox. "Ouch," he added absently as Ethan bit his earlobe again.

 _'You don't say that when I do it with human teeth,'_ Ethan said, doing it again.

Gwydion didn't seem to be paying much attention to Ethan; Giles got the impression his dog was far more interested in the prospect of rabbit. A sharp pain in his ear where Ethan was nibbling broke Giles' chain of thought. "Ouch!" he said, with much more feeling this time. "You may remember your teeth are a bit sharper now, and I'm not a chew toy." Deciding to kill two birds with one stone –getting Ethan away from his apparently irresistible ears, and checking out Gwydion's reaction to Ethan's fox form– Giles put Ethan down on the ground.

 _'Bugger, he's big,'_ Ethan sent with alarm, looking up at Gwydion, his long ears going back to his head, but Gwydion only briefly sniffed at Ethan-fox, wagged his tail, and then looked back up at Giles expectantly.

"Apparently he can tell the difference between a fox and a rabbit at least," Giles commented, noticing the way Gwydion's eyes seemed to light up again at the mention of 'rabbit.' He sighed. "Oh, fine, be off with you. Go chase rabbits if you want."

Both Gwydion and Ethan immediately turned tail and began to patter away.

"Ethan," Giles called out. "Not you."

After a pause, a comically dejected looking fox slunk back into the clearing. Head down, brush dragging through the leaves, it would have been very funny were it not a little too reminiscent of a time Giles would rather not recall too vividly.

"Don't," Giles pleaded. "That's not... Just don't, please?"

Ethan-fox immediately perked up. _'Bugger, I'm sorry. I didn't think.'_ He trotted back to Giles, and the air wavered, and then a naked Ethan was pressing against Giles, holding him tightly.

Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan in return. "It's all right," he said, although the memory of the last time he'd seen Ethan as a fox was still strong in his mind.

"It's not. That was stupid of me. I'm sorry." Ethan kissed the side of Giles' face and neck. "I'll get dressed, and we can make our way home now. I'll stay reassuringly human."

But Giles wasn't ready to go back to the house and all the problems and responsibilities that waited for them there, not when they had been actually enjoying themselves before he'd gone and ruined it. Casting about a way to reclaim that light-hearted mood, he asked, "Turn me into a badger?"

Ethan, who was covered in goose pimples, drew back. "Are you– Are you sure?"

Giles nodded, although he was anything but. "I trust you." That much, at least, was true.

Ethan stared at him for a few seconds; then said, "Ready?" Taking a deep breath, Giles nodded. "Strip then, dear, and perhaps do your globe of warm air thing too while you're at it; I'd rather not be distracted from the process by shivering."

Giles did so, creating a warm sphere before taking off his clothes; he saw no need for shivering himself. "All right," he said when he was fully naked. "Now what?"

"Now we say hello to the girls," Ethan said, waving over Giles' shoulder. "Hello, girls!"

Giles didn't turn, not buying Ethan's words for a minute. "You know I could take away the heated sphere."

Sniggering, Ethan put his hands on Giles' shoulders and kissed him briefly, sobering as he did so. "Right. I don't think you'll feel very much," he said as he pulled his head back enough to look at Giles. "I certainly don't when I do it to myself. It's just a question of finding the right thread..." Giles' perceptions suddenly performed nauseating acrobatics. "...and pulling it."

Giles felt as it he was sinking rapidly into the earth. He fell forward trying to catch himself and was confronted with a very different world from the one he'd known. A world of strange rustles and smells and large human feet directly in front of him.

He shook his head, trying to get his bearings. "Ethan–" he tried to say but that wasn't what came out of his mouth.

"Speak with your mind, dearheart."

Giles heard, very loudly, the click of Ethan's knees as the man crouched down, yet still he towered over Giles. A hand covered in fascinating smells was placed in front of Giles' nose. _'This is... rather strange...'_ Giles sent mentally, getting distracted by the cacophony of scents rolling off Ethan's skin. He nuzzled his nose against Ethan's palm, trying to sort them out.

"Have you seen the size of your claws?" Ethan asked. "You could really live up to your nickname if you wanted to." The hand that wasn't under Giles' nose was moving over his back, combing through his, well, fur, he supposed.

It felt... good. Ethan repeated the movement and a strange trilling sound came from Giles' throat in response.

Ethan chuckled, the sound seeming to reach lower registers than normal. He scratched just above Giles' eyes and asked, "Feeling hungry, by any chance?"

 _'Mm, maybe,'_ Giles replied, distractedly still fascinated by how different Ethan's laugh had sounded. _'Do that again.'_

"What, this?" Ethan scratched above Giles' eyes again.

Giles trilled once more in pleasure. _'Not that, although if you want to keep doing it...'_

Chuckling, Ethan asked, "What then?"

Oh. _'That,'_ he said, looking up at Ethan's face. _'Laugh.'_ It was such a warm and complex sound, Giles felt like he could crawl into it and settle down.

"I'm not sure I can force laughter," Ethan said, although he was in fact laughing as he said it, "but I'm sure it will come naturally now and then. So you don't fancy a nice plump rabbit then. Hot blood, bones to crunch..."

Giles peered up at Ethan suspiciously. _'Are you certain you changed yourself back from a fox all the way?'_

Another laugh, deep and liquid. "Yes, but I still fancy a bunny hunt, even if we let it go... is that hypocritical of me?"

Giles turned that one over in his mind, trying not to get distracted by all the scents and sounds enticing him. _'I don't know. Would you be as against the hunt if they let the fox go at the end?'_

"Yes," Ethan said immediately. "Very well, your point is taken. It's not as if we need the grub. Have you had long enough as a badger for your first experiment, or would you like to explore a bit?"

' _I..._ ' He found himself reluctant to go back just yet. _'Can we wait a little longer?'_

"Of course." There was a movement of air, and then there was another animal in front of Giles. Ethan-fox looked a lot bigger from Giles' current height, and he only now realised just how dull his vision had become. The vibrant red of Ethan's coat was now a faded brown.

Of course, all those delicious Ethan smells were now different and had to be explored all over again. He did so, sliding his muzzle along the line of Ethan's back, taking in and basking in the myriad scents, which in total had already settled in his mind under the label 'Ethan'.

Ethan was sniffing him in turn. _'You're still you,'_ he sent. _'Still my husband.'_

 _'Yes,_ ' Giles replied serenely. _'Were you expecting someone different?'_

' _No, I mean, your base pattern's still the same. I've completely changed your body, but we have signature patterns that magic, or at least my magic, can't touch. Unique like fingerprints_.' Ethan completed a circuit around Giles and stood before him again. ' _It's reassuring._ '

' _It would have been more reassuring if you'd discovered that before you changed me,_ ' Giles said drily. Still, it wasn't in him to be worried about that at the moment. This body, although entirely different from his own, felt... right. At least it did now that the original disorientation was fading.

' _I would never have done it if I'd felt there was any danger._ ' Ethan poked his nose into Giles' neck and then sneezed, which was for some reason a very amusing sound. _'Shall we take a stroll?_ '

' _Why not? It's a whole different world to explore._ ' He nuzzled Ethan's fur. _'Which direction?_ '

Ethan stood straight for a few moments, sniffing the air, and then trotted off into the undergrowth. _'This way._ ' Giles followed, finding himself instinctively navigating more by sound and scent than sight. It was a strange experience, partially because it didn't feel strange at all. _'Come on, little legs,_ ' Ethan called, getting further ahead. _'Keep up.'_

 _'That's not funny,'_ Giles declared with as much dignity as he could muster, even as he quickened his pace.

 _'Made me laugh._ ' Ethan sounded in high spirits, an impression increased when he suddenly shot vertically into the air several feet, coming down in a pounce within a clump of dock leaves. _'I'll get you, you little crispy coated scuttling thing.'_

 _'I thought Skunk was supposed to be the puppy, not you. Besides you don't even like bugs,'_ Giles felt obliged to point out. Just then, something shot out of the leaves, right into Giles' path, and he instinctively swiped it to the ground with his claws.

 _'Mine!'_ Ethan sprang from the greenery to confront Giles, making a wheezy sound in warning. _'My, er, fat nasty looking beetle thing!'_

 _'Why would you want a fat nasty looking beetle thing?'_ Giles asked, not moving his paw from on top of said beetle thing. _'Besides, I caught it fair and square.'_

 _'I did all the work!'_ Without warning, Ethan jumped into the air again, coming down on top of Giles and then bouncing a safe distance away . _'Mine!'_

Giles felt a warning growl rumble in his throat. _'Have you gone quite mad?'_

Ethan stared at him, hackles raised and a snarl starting to form on his muzzle. Then suddenly, he straightened up and did something strange with his shoulders that might possibly have been meant to be a shrug. _'Fine. Eat up then.'_

Giles stared at him. _'What? You want me to eat the fat nasty looking... quite probably crunchy and quite tasty... I'm sorry, where was I going with this?'_

 _'Yes, eat it. Don't waste it. You'll find it tastes quite different now. I'll find myself another... something.'_ Ethan was still watching him. Perhaps he was thinking Giles might be careless enough to let the beetle escape. Which, if true, made Giles wonder if he should be offended. He was a far better... badger than that. To prove it he leaned his head down and bit the head off the beetle.

It tasted... nutty? Salty? Really it wasn't like anything Giles had ever tasted before, but it was definitely moresome.

Ethan chuckled and trotted off around some brambles. _'If you think that's good, wait until you try coney tartare.'_

 _'You're obsessed with rabbits, did you know that?'_ Giles asked as he finished the beetle in one more bite before running after Ethan.

' _Skunk has found a small warren, you know.'_

_'Really?'_

_'Yes. Lots of them, all coming out of their burrows now as evening gets closer, getting fat on the new spring growth. Little fluffy white tails showing as they hop about. Want to go and watch them?_ ' Ethan suddenly appeared in front of Giles again, grinning evilly in that way that foxes, and Ethans, seemed to have.

 _'You want to do far more than just watch them,'_ Giles pointed out. He ambled closer to Ethan. _'Besides, there's another fluffy tail I'm much more interested in watching._ '

Fox-Ethan's head tipped to the side. ' _Oh yes?'_

Giles started to nod, but stopped as it felt unnatural. ' _Yes,_ ' he sent, making a sound that was something between a cluck and a chitter deep in his throat that his badger brain insisted was seductive.

Ethan's brush twitched and his forequarters lowered, although his head stayed high. He looked very much like a dog wanting to play . _'Is it physically possible, do you think?_ '

' _I haven't the foggiest idea, but don't you think finding out would be more interesting than chasing some old rabbit?_ '

***

"You're a nosy old sod, aren't you?" Ethan asked companionably as he entered the small study in which he'd finally located Ian. There was a good-sized fire roaring in the hearth, and it provided the only lighting currently in the room. It was a very dark night outside, heavy rain smearing the windows. Ethan and Rupert had been caught out in the open when the downpour had started hours earlier, still in their animal shapes. Ethan hadn't missed the crow flapping away in the direction of the house as they'd scampered to the log for their clothes. "And a broody one too by the look of things."

"Hello, Ethan," Ian said, voice laced with dry humour. "How nice to see you."

Ethan went over to the large bow windows and pulled the heavy curtains closed against the night. Ian, he'd noticed, was drinking. Ethan found a dusty glass on a small table near the window and cleaned it on his jumper. He looked back at the shape curled up in the shadows of the large armchair by the hearth. "Maybe you'd prefer to see me furry?"

"I would have thought you'd got your fill of that earlier." He couldn't make out Ian's expression in the shadows, but it sounded like he was smiling.

"As you were watching, you should know that my fill was exactly what I didn't get. Not then, anyway." He walked over to stand beside Ian's chair, picking up a half-empty bottle of malt from the floor there. "A friend should never let a friend drink alone," he announced.

He could feel Ian's eyes on him. "If I recall correctly," the older man began, "the last time we drank together, we ended up in the Thames."

"Well, to be pedantic, the last time we drank together was with Rupert, upstairs, naked and full of post-coital buzz, but I take your point." He filled his glass with whisky and raised it to Ian. "To a dry, warm evening."

Ian raised his glass in return. "Speaking of which, where is your Rupert? Didn't misplace the badger, did you?"

"The girls talked him into some official Watcher training time. I've no doubt they're exhausting him as we speak, and he'll be fit for nothing come bedtime." For all his cynical words, Ethan knew exactly why Rupert had agreed, or at least he knew why he would have done, had he been required. The two of them knew something now that no one else did. Something terrible that would make betrayers of them both should it come to pass. Would any of their friends still consider themselves that when this was over?

After refilling his glass to near full, Ethan moved over to the other armchair in the room, pulling it closer to the fire.

"And you are trying to ensure you are in the same state?" Ian asked, eyeing the full glass.

"Just playing catch up," Ethan said peaceably. "You seemed to have had a head start on me."

Ian regarded him for a moment. "I don't suppose you'd accept old bones feeling the chill as an excuse."

"Happy to oblige, if you'd be as kind in return." Ethan attempted to study Ian, seeing more with his pattern sense than his eyes in the flickering firelight. "Unless you feel like talking, in which case, friends are not just for stealing your booze."

"Oh, it's nothing new," Ian assured him, taking a drink himself. "Sometimes pains and worries are around for so long that they start to feel like old friends themselves."

"Things are different now though," Ethan reminded. "You've got someone to share them with."

"Were you always this pushy? Or is this something special you've saved for me?"

"Has asking me versions of that question ever helped you in the past?" It was rhetorical. "Might as well surrender now, you know."

Ian smiled. "Yes, but where would the challenge be then?"

"Just try to remember that you don't have to be alone now. Not if you don't want to be. I know we're not him, but we're your brothers in this, nonetheless. Break the habit of solitude once in a while, old crow, and come to us?" Ethan chuckled into his glass. "And not just to play peeping Tom."

"Could I help it if I was just innocently flying by while you were getting up to things against the laws of nature?"

"Or rather, failing to. What shape had Derek, or is that a bad question?"

"It's not a bad question, but we never changed together. I didn't learn the knack until after he was gone." Ian's smile turned bittersweet. "But I rather fancy he would've been something quite grand, a golden eagle or something of the sort."

Something that could fly. Something that wouldn't plummet to its death. Ethan struggled to keep his wince from his face. He wished quite sincerely he'd never read that section of Harriet's journals. "Bit of an aristocrat, was he? I'd like to have known him. Every time you tell me a little something about him, it feels like a gift. The four of us could've been great mates." He had no way of proving that assertion, but it felt like truth.

"London would've trembled in horror before us," Ian agreed, chuckling. "And Derek was as common born as can be, but he had that kind of air that meant he would've fit in with the upper crust effortlessly." He paused. "I was the one born with the pedigree."

Oh, and wasn't that a fascinating new titbit of information. "Exactly how elevated a crust are we talking about here?" Ethan asked cautiously.

"Buckham Hall is a little smaller than the family's summer home."

Ethan slipped out of his chair in order to sit on the arm of Ian's, staring down with a hard look. "Title?"

"Well..."

"Tell me the worst." He might have guessed. How was he meant to be a self-respecting anarchist when his lover and his... brother were both blue-blooded pedigrees?

"Viscount," Ian said, quickly adding, "It's always been more trouble than it was worth."

"Bloody hell," Ethan swore quietly. "I'm sodding surrounded. This comes as a great shock to me, Ian. Or should I say, my lord? I feel let down. Really, I do."

Ian lifted an eyebrow. "Because I had the bad taste to be born with a title?"

"Yes. That's beyond poor taste. Rupert's bad enough, but at least he's not lower ranks royalty. How could you do this to me?"

"I haven't done anything to you. I'm the same as I've always been." Ian sounded exasperated and perhaps a little defensive.

"Yes," Ethan said, not actually agreeing at all. "Another wealthy sodding landowner to my mixed peasant stock. Another fox-hunting, public schooled blue-blood. Another–"

"Another word and this public schooled blue-blood is going to undertake a fox hunt right now," Ian growled, reaching out to grasp the wrist of the hand Ethan had been waving around as he spoke. "Bloody hell, you're the last person I would expect to buy into all that class balderdash!"

That shut him up. Ethan looked down and said nothing, not trying to take his arm back. He hadn't meant to rant quite so strongly.

Ian sighed and let go of his wrist. "Does it really make that much difference to you?" he asked, sounding weary.

Ethan shook his head, feeling guilty. "It's just... old triggers, as they say. If I really cared, I'd hardly have married Rupert, would I? I just... It's insecurity, I guess. Feeling–" He snorted, standing up from the chair. "Like peasant scum. Like nobody. I'm sorry, Ian. I was being a prat." He turned to walk towards the window.

"You're not, you know." Ian's pleasant voice followed after Ethan.

"No, I'm somebody. I know. A man of prophecy and... onerous duty. As I said, old triggers." Ethan parted the curtains and watched the raindrops racing down the windowpanes, shivering slightly because the air was chill away from the fire.

"I was referring to the being a prat bit, but yes, that's true as well." Ian got up and crossed the room to stand behind him. "Now being a drama queen on the other hand..."

Chuckling softly, Ethan looked down. "Yes, well, I have to be some kind of nobility with all you titled folk and landed gentry around. My Lord Crow."

Ian snorted. "You're going to make me regret telling you, aren't you?"

Turning around, Ethan grinned. "Oh, most definitely." He reached out and lightly stroked Ian's cheek. "So what happens when nobility is pulled towards the wild? I imagine it causes more of a stir than when a London street kid walks widdershins."

"When they eventually noticed, yes. I was a terror from the start so it took some time for it to come to light when I started really turning to the wild."

"How old were you when you met Derek?" Ethan took Ian's hand and pulled him back towards the fire.

"Fourteen," Ian replied, letting himself be led. He smiled a little. "If I was a wild child in the straitjacket of nobility, then he was the clichéd diamond in the rough. If there were any justice in the universe, Derek would have been the one with title born. He carried himself far more like a Viscount than I ever managed."

"Instant attraction?" Ethan frowned at the single-seater chairs, and before Ian could sit on his, Ethan grabbed the cushion from each, placing them on the floor and kicked the chairs back a little way. "Sit down here with me. It's cosier."

"We have to do something about this fascination you have with sitting on the floor," Ian grumbled good-naturedly as he sat himself down on the cushion besides Ethan.

"I like floors. They're the great levellers. Sitting on them strips formality from an encounter, lends a touch of childlike freedom from care." He grabbed Ian's whisky bottle from where it had been left and offered it to the older man. "Refill?"

"Why not?" Ian took the bottle with a smile and drank from it.

"So tell me about your first meeting. What was it like when you first saw him?" Ethan was aware that his eagerness for romantic details made him seem a trifle... girlish, but hopefully Ian would understand why he wanted to know.

"Like I had been hit by an express train," Ian said, glancing at Ethan. "I suspect you know exactly how that felt."

He nodded eagerly. "I'd known Rupert was out there, had even been expecting I'd meet him that night, but even so, I wasn't even slightly prepared. Does it always take our side of the partnership harder?"

"How can it not? After all, even if we're not fully aware of it, we're reacting to two interlocking pieces of our own pattern clicking into place."

"Yes." Ethan nodded again. "Yes, of course. Did you talk to him immediately, or do what I did and run away to reassess?"

Ian chuckled. "I would've if I hadn't been in the middle of getting the shit kicked out of me."

"Oh!" Ethan put his hand on Ian's leg and squeezed, delighted at what he'd just been told and seeing parallels with his own story. "He rescued you?"

"Actually, he was with the gang that was doing the beating." Ian smiled wryly. "It was a well earned beating. I used to be quite good at calling down more trouble than I could handle with my mouth."

"Me too, but Rupert became practised at playing the knight in shining armour while we were together. So it was love at first thump then?" Ethan giggled a little and swallowed some more whisky down.

Ian stretched out his legs in front of him and leant back. "Something like that. For me, at least. For Derek, it was more guilt and pity for the poor beaten-to-a-pulp public school git who couldn't keep his mouth shut."

"I'm sure you made him aware of your charms soon enough. Once you were slightly less pulpy, I imagine." Ethan laughed again. "I stalked Rupert for weeks before daring to make my approach, and even then I didn't actually approach, but set up a suicidal drama he had to rescue me from."

"Oh?" Ian took another drink from the whisky bottle. "Your turn to tell a story."

Ethan grinned. "It was the early seventies, the time of glam rock, and believe me, I know glamour. I set the stage, and when I knew Rupert was paying attention, I joined my fellow actors. They, um, didn't like me very much." He winked at Ian.

"I was right. You are a drama queen."

"Back then I went to extremes. Extremes of extremes. But it doesn't sound like you were much better."

"I got myself into more than my fair share of trouble, yes," Ian confirmed. "Was always trying to get attention."

"Brother," Ethan murmured fondly. Ian was leaning back against his chair, his legs straight and feet pointed at the fire, and Ethan laid his hand on Ian's upper belly, just making contact really. After the things they'd done recently, it didn't seem too intimate. "That's what you are. My older brother." He felt he was almost challenging Ian to deny it.

Ian chuckled, dropping a hand to cover Ethan's. "That would make how we ended our last night out a whole new category of naughtiness, wouldn't it?"

Ethan laughed. "Nothing really all that wrong with a touch of brotherly love, and it's better, perhaps, than feeling like a narcissist every time I want to kiss you."

"Felt like a narcissist a lot, have you?" Ian asked curiously.

"Just recently." He smirked down at Ian.

"Wicked boy," Ian accused fondly.

"I'm just naturally affectionate," Ethan claimed.

"You're naturally something, all right."

That made Ethan frown. "Do you mind me touching you? I thought after... was I wrong?" He prepared to pull his hand back out from under Ian's.

Ian's grip tightened on his hand, stopping him from moving before he began. "If I minded you touching me, I'm quite capable of moving out of reach."

Ethan smiled at Ian, and feeling the smile was tense, deliberately made himself relax with a sigh. And of course, being perverse, immediately then found himself asking, "How did this morning's news hit you?"

He felt Ian's mood get much more serious. "It's beginning," the older man said with a sigh.

"This is so hard for Rupert," Ethan said after a pause. "He feels responsible for, well, just about everything."

Ian nodded. "He has a rather over-developed social conscience at times, doesn't he?"

"Trained into him from an early age. Normally I'd try whatever works to pull him out of it, but this time... Well, it _is_ our responsibility, isn't it?"

"The thing about fated roles," Ian began, stretching out into even more of a lounging position, "is that they're pretty much going to happen whether you spend time worrying about it or not."

Ethan thought about Dawn and answered unwisely, "Not necessarily."

That earned him a long look. "Not necessarily?" Ian asked casually.

Bugger. "Oh," Ethan started dismissively, "I just meant that sometimes decisions have to be made."

"Are we talking about any decisions in particular?"

He shrugged and met Ian's eyes. "Oh, you know. When to attack, who to attack with, that sort of thing. Our roles may be pre-destined, but the rest of it still has to be organised the old fashioned way."

Ian looked back at him silently for so long that Ethan began to worry the man knew more than he should. But he couldn't know, could he? At the very worst, Keri might have hinted obliquely. Of one thing Ethan was sure, if Ian pushed hard enough, Ethan's resolve would crumble, and then Rupert would be angry with him.

It wasn't as if he couldn't see Rupert's point. The decision regarding Dawn had to be theirs. It wasn't fair to involve anyone else, other than Dawn herself, of course. If it were just up to him, he probably would have told Dawn by now, but he understood why Rupert didn't want to. Not while there was a chance that an alternative could be found.

Ethan let his gaze fall and took his hand back, using the excuse of drinking from the whisky bottle. He wasn't very good at withstanding direct pressure, but he did have a knack for sliding out from beneath. "Well, there's you to start with," he told Ian.

Still watching him with an uncomfortably direct gaze, Ian smiled slightly and asked, "What about me?"

Ethan glanced up uneasily. "You're so convinced you're going to die in the coming battles."

Ian didn't look away, and the smile he gave Ethan then was equal parts sad and kind. "My part in this is almost over. I don't see this as a bad thing, Ethan."

Ethan scowled. "Why not? I bloody do!"

"Oh, my dear boy..." Ian reached out and squeezed his hand. "You know the answer to that, if you think about it. You've voiced it before."

Had he? Well, perhaps. "I know it must be hell to stay, but you've stayed this long, Ian. And I'm trying to make things... Well, better than they have been for you. Why give up now?"

"Perhaps because I don't see it as giving up." Ian sighed and sat up. "I don't know if you can understand how this feels to me, Ethan, and frankly, that's good. I wouldn't wish it on you for anything. Staying has been my penance, and it hasn't been all bad, but I've never forgotten that that's what it is. And now, it's almost at an end."

Ethan felt like curling up into a ball and staying like that until Rupert came to comfort him, but he wasn't a child and that sort of behaviour wasn't open to him. He stared at the patterns in the rug. "So the pain is so bad that oblivion is preferable to staying with... To staying." He dared a glance up.

The smile Ian gave him then was totally unexpected and had all the more impact because of that. "Who said anything about oblivion?"

Oh. Ohhh. "You believe that–" Of course he did. Hadn't Rupert promised Ethan something much along the same lines. Ethan found himself responding with an uncertain grin. "Derek is waiting for you?"

"He's always been the doggedly patient sort, but I may have pushed him to his limits this time." The fondness in Ian's eyes was a match for his smile, and his entire expression was possibly more peaceful than Ethan had ever seen it.

Spontaneously, Ethan surged forward, gathering Ian into his arms and squeezing tightly. For Ian's sake, he'd allow no doubts into his mind. Derek was waiting for Ian, and soon they would be together again as they should be. "I'm going to miss you quite appallingly, old crow, but... but it _is_ him you are meant to be with, and I will... I will remember that."

Ian hugged him back just as tightly. "You don't need to start missing me quite yet; I'm still here for a while."

"Does that mean you know when?"

He shook his head. "The patterns will tell when it is time."

Ethan kissed the side of Ian's head softly before pulling back, out of his arms, but he stayed close. "Promise me something?"

"What?"

Ethan could feel what he could only assume was his cheeks blushing, which was amusing, as he'd had no idea he was still capable of such a response. He made himself meet Ian's eyes. "When you're... gone from here. If it's possible, and I know it probably won't be, but if it is... Let me know that you –both of you– are all right, eh?"

Ian grinned at him. "You should know by now, dear boy, that the impossible is where we function the best." He touched Ethan's cheek gently. "I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

Giles had no clear idea what the time was when the door creaked open and Ethan slunk into the room, as quiet and sneaky as his animal form. Certainly, the nursery was considerably darker than the last time Giles had looked up, which might explain why his eyes were aching so much.

Gwydion didn't even stir from where he was stretched out by the fireplace as Ethan slipped across to Giles, an expression half-frown, half-smile creasing his face. He didn't say anything, but he put his hand on Giles' shoulder and squeezed.

"Found me," Giles said a bit ruefully, raising a hand to cover Ethan's.

"Wasn't hard. It's late, dearheart. You were missed at our evening meal; I only managed to make it for the dessert myself, and I had to fend off too many questions. They're starting to worry about us."

It had been just four days since they'd made a start on his grandmother's journals and discovered so very much that they had rather not have known. In that time, the unravelling predicted by Keri had begun in earnest, the events in Stevenage just a start. The news was now full of reports of further strange and inexplicable incidents and many learned and official people trying to explain them nonetheless. They couldn't, of course, and stumbled-over theories about a form of widespread ergot poisoning or biochemical terrorism were doing nothing to calm a population that was already on the edge of panic.

At least, so far, it hadn't spread much further than the south of England, but it would inevitably do so. And already there had been deaths, each one weighing heavily on Giles' conscience. He closed his eyes briefly as he remembered them again. They had hesitated too long, and others were paying the price.

Finding multiple incidences of corroborating evidence for the prophecy his gran had found in the Vatican, which although vague as hell individually, when put together formed a body of prophecy that could hardly have been clearer, had only made matters worse. The various writings, Keri's words, Dawn's dream, even their own instincts, all said that the Key was needed for them to defeat Vaurtain and save, well, just about everything from raw Chaos.

This wasn't the Chaos of Ethan's old fun and games. As the events in Stevenage and elsewhere showed clearly, this was what happened when Chaos overwhelmed Order completely, when no form or structure could maintain itself, and everything became perpetually mutable and fluctuating. When reality as defined by the human mind no longer had meaning.

While it was conceivably possible to convert Dawn back to what was, after all, her natural form, after that her personality and memories would be gone, and even if they could, somehow, squeeze the Key back into a human shape, it would be a totally different human from the one they'd known. The knowledge of the monks who had made her had died with them, but perhaps not even they could have brought her back again.

Ethan stirred restlessly at Giles' side. "You need to eat, Rupert. Rest too."

"In a little while." Giles couldn't see himself doing either easily right then.

Ethan looked glumly at the open books and papers covering the small desk Giles had carried into the room for himself. "You'll make mistakes if you try to work without taking care of your physical needs. Miss something important."

"I won't," Giles insisted stubbornly. This was what he'd been trained for, his life's work. He'd researched equally dire things for longer periods without breaks.

Ethan moved around behind Giles, gently massaging his shoulders. "If I brought you up some food, would you eat it?"

Giles' eyes closed briefly as Ethan's hands showed him just how tense his muscles had become. "Would you give me a choice?"

He felt Ethan's body shake slightly behind him as he chuckled softly. "An illusion of one."

Tilting his head back so he could look up at Ethan's face, Giles gave in gracefully. "In that case, the answer is yes."

"A wise choice." Ethan smiled down at him and slipped a hand under the neckline of Giles' top to stroke his upper chest. There was a slight and comforting touch of magic in Ethan's fingertips.

"You're trying to distract me."

"No, I'm trying to look after you." Ethan sounded mildly exasperated. "There's a difference. However, if you want a distraction..." The warm hand disappeared from Giles' chest as Ethan moved back around to his side and then knelt down. The same hand, now emitting a stronger pulse of magic, stroked firmly up Giles' thigh. "I can provide a good one."

Certain portions of Giles' anatomy were in total agreement. "I've never disputed that," he replied, reaching out a hand to touch Ethan's cheek.

Ethan smiled as he ran his hand up further and moved it confidently over the crotch of Giles' trousers. "Doesn't have to take long, and it'll do you good. Do me good too, actually."

And that last, of course, undercut any arguments Giles could make against taking a break and letting Ethan... distract him. "You know me too well."

The smile turned into a grin. "I do, don't I? It's true though, it will." Ethan's hand moved in small circles, stroking firmly for a few seconds, and then he moved it up to quickly unfasten Giles' button and fly. "I've missed you badly all this long, long day."

"Laying it on a bit thick now, aren't you?" Giles asked, even as he slid down in the chair slightly and spread his legs to give Ethan better access.

Ethan moved around to kneel between them. "Do you think I'm lying then?" he asked without rancour as he spread the two sides of Giles' trousers and then slipped his hand without hesitation into the slit of the boxers. Warmth enveloped Giles' cock, which Ethan tugged gently out. All movement briefly paused before Ethan added very softly, "I'm not, you know."

Giles reached down and touched Ethan's cheek. "You know I'll always be here when you need me." Ethan took a deep slow breath, smiled and nodded, and then bent his head down.

If Ethan had a flaw in matters sexual, it was impatience, but tonight Ethan seemed happy to set a gentle pace, licking and kissing Giles into full hardness and then keeping him hard with slow, indulgent explorations of tongue and lips.

It was exactly what Giles needed, something slow and soothing, that relaxed him as much as it aroused. His head was so full of his grandmother's words, and the dire things they laid out, that anything else would have been too much stimulation.

Ethan seemed to slip into something close to a trance as he sucked and moved in his steady rhythm. His eyes were shut, and he seemed to be savouring Giles' cock, enjoying giving the pleasure as much as Giles' enjoyed receiving it. The build-up of sensation was deceptive. Ethan had started so slowly and increased in speed and intensity so evenly and gradually, that it took Giles almost by surprise when he realised he was panting softly and close to coming.

"Ethan," he said softly, reaching out to touch his lover's face again, letting a little of his magic flow through his fingers. He wanted to feel him, to meet Ethan's eyes as he came.

Dark eyes opened and met his, and Ethan made a questioning noise. He didn't stop what he was doing however. All of the things that Giles felt for Ethan seemed to surge along with the physical sensations, but all he could manage to say was, "Love you," as his climax washed over him.

Ethan kept Giles in his mouth, ever so gently sucking, for a short while. Then he lifted his head, smiling dotingly and looking a little out of it. "Love you too."

Giles reached down and took hold of Ethan's hand, tugging gently, pulling him up and into his lap so he could kiss him. Ethan went willingly and the kiss was sweet and deep.

After it finished, Ethan sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, bending his head to rest his forehead on Giles'. "I suppose an early night is out of the question?"

"I think it's already too late for an early night," Giles replied wryly. He ran his hands lightly along Ethan's back. "But I suppose we could call it a night."

"Good." Ethan kissed Giles' forehead. "And food for you. I'll fetch it, but let's get you to the bedroom and away from these books first. My own eyes couldn't focus on words by the time I gave up and decided to find you, so I hate to think how yours must be feeling."

Ethan had been doing his own lonely research, trying to discover a method for that awful task, reverting Dawn back to her Key form and effectively killing her. He'd claimed a room for himself deep in the untenanted left wing of the Hall. Giles hadn't asked, he now realised, how Ethan's studies were progressing. He wasn't certain he wanted to know. Giles' own task was to come up with the information that would make such a radical and horrible step unnecessary. He wasn't having much luck so far, which was one of the reasons he was being so dogged in his attempts. He refused to believe there wasn't another way. He just had to find it.

Calling Gwydion to him, Giles followed Ethan out of the nursery, locking it with a quick non-verbal spell behind them. He didn't even try to take any books with him; he knew Ethan too well to think he'd be allowed to get away with that. When they reached the bedroom door, Ethan paused. "I'm going to take Giddy down, and he and Skunk can run round out the back while I put some food for you together. Do you think you can stay awake long enough to eat it?"

He nodded. He was tired but the last thing he wanted to do was sleep. With sleep came dreams, and Giles wasn't sure he could face what might be in his dreams right now.

Ethan frowned in obvious concern, but then scratched his head and turned, walking off down the corridor without saying anything beyond, "Giddy, you're with me." Gwydion hesitated, looking back at Giles as if he wasn't sure about leaving him. Ethan just kept walking.

"Go on," Giles told his dog, nodding towards Ethan. Gwydion whined, but finally turned and trotted off the way Ethan had gone. Which left Giles alone with his thoughts, not the most comfortable place for him to be right now. He crossed the room and sat in the window seat, staring out at the night and doing his best not to think at all.

He must have succeeded as Ethan seemed to return very quickly, both dogs gambolling around his legs. He was carrying a tray with what seemed to be rather a lot of stuff on it. "Want to eat in bed, dear?" he asked as he pushed the door shut by leaning on it.

Giles shrugged then nodded, getting up and heading over to the bed. It was easier to agree than actually think about it.

Ethan put the tray down carefully in the middle of the bedspread, removing two large mugs of tea from it and handing one to Giles to put on the bedside table on his side. He then grabbed Skunk from the covers before she could stick her noise in the plate of food and put her on the floor with a firm, "No. Under no circumstances." He sat on the covers next to Giles and looked at him with a deep frown. "Oh dear. Am I going to have to feed you?"

Giles shook himself and reached for a fork. "No, I can–"

Ethan took the fork from him. "You can what? Eat two listless mouthfuls and say you've had enough?" He poked around on the plate, which seemed to hold a range of cold food, and speared a slice of tomato and some ham, raising them to Giles' mouth. "You need nutrients."

Giles obediently opened his mouth, some amusement making it through the morass that his emotions had sunk into in the time he'd been alone. "You're going to insist on this, I see."

The salt of the ham went well with the sweetly sour tomato and refreshed his mouth; he began to feel the first stirrings of real hunger. Ethan fed him a slice of Mrs B's best quiche next, filched undoubtedly without permission. As Giles ate his way through it in a few bites, Ethan asked, "What did you do at times like these when I wasn't here to take care of you? Survive on old books and whisky, I suppose."

"More or less," Giles admitted between bites. "There were often doughnuts and pizza as well in Sunnydale."

"Very healthy. Excellent stress food. Not at all a recipe for heart disease." Ethan's tone was more fondly amused than waspish. "Don't forget your tea," he added as he prodded the fork at the plate again. "I had to wrestle the kettle from Kat to make that and endure another ten minutes inquisition from her and Xander too."

"That must have been... uncomfortable," Giles ventured as he reached for his mug.

Ethan didn't face him as he admitted, "I can't talk to any of them, Rupert. Not even Ian really, because I know he knows there's something up from the way he keeps looking at me. I have to force myself to look any of them in the eye, and when Dawn spoke to me over dessert, I..." He stopped talking abruptly as he speared with rather too much vigour a pickled onion from within the dollop of piccalilli. "I couldn't look at her at all."

For a moment, despite how good it felt to not be doing this alone, Giles regretted pulling Ethan into his world. "I'm sorry," he murmured, reaching over to take Ethan's free hand.

"It's not your fault. Come now, you have to let me be able to talk about this without adding to your guilt. There's no one else I can talk to, after all, but if I'm just going to add to your burden..." Ethan sighed, and lifted a fork of sliced meat and pickle to Giles' mouth.

"And if I say I'm sorry for that?" Giles asked wryly before taking the food.

"I'll spank you." There was something about Ethan's tone that suggested he actually would. Or would try, at least.

Giles managed the ghost of a smile. "Oh no, anything but that," he said in his most deadpan tone.

"Right. So no more sorrys or thefts of guilt. And eat this." It was a baby beetroot.

He frowned. "You know I don't like those."

"No, you just think you don't. This isn't one of those nasty packaged in artificial vinegar supermarket jobs. This is fresh, cooked by Mrs B herself earlier, and seasoned only with salt and black pepper. They're delicious. Open your mouth."

Giles kept his mouth stubbornly closed. Well, except to say, "Mrs. B cooked them when I was young. I didn't like them then, and I don't like them now."

Ethan glared for a few moments, but then shrugged and ate the purple thing himself with obvious relish. He handed Giles a celery stick with his fingers. "Crunch on this then. That white stuff on the plate is Boursin. I thought you could use it as a dip."

"You've become quite the mother hen," Giles observed fondly as he dipped his celery in the cheese and took a bite.

"That's hardly news anymore, is it?" Apparently happy that Giles was eating, Ethan turned to pick up his own mug of tea and then leant back against the headboard. "I'm assuming that if your work today had got anywhere that you'd tell me without me having to ask."

"It hasn't. Not in the direction I'm trying to go at least." Even thinking about it threatened to steal Giles' appetite again; if Ethan hadn't been sitting right there, Giles would have stopped eating and pushed the plate away.

"Then I will gladly say nothing more on the subject." Ethan sighed heavily and drew his legs up to lean on them. They sat in silence for a while as Giles nibbled and Ethan sipped. Then almost as if he couldn't help himself, Ethan said, "I really couldn't tell you whether it's a good or a bad thing that I too am meeting problems with my research."

"Oh?" Giles said neutrally, not sure exactly what would be the best way to react. Not sure how he wanted to react either. He was fairly certain however that they wouldn't be the same.

"Yes, oh. Quite." Ethan sighed. "The method is easy enough. I had the bare bones of that by the end of the first day, but I need to find a way to do it without requiring unique and impossible to recover –if indeed they still exist– mystical items."

He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. But responsibility made Giles offer, "I might be able to help suggest substitutes."

"I've still got a few more depressingly fat tomes from Pamela to force-feed my overfed eyes, but if they don't bring enlightenment, I may have to take you up on it. Thing is, it's not really something we can afford to take chances on substitutes with, is it?"

Giles leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes wearily. "Sometimes you have to make do."

"No, not in this case. If I have to do this... abominable thing, I'm going to do it properly. I... she deserves that respect."

Giles didn't think he'd ever heard that particular tone in Ethan's voice before. Opening his eyes again, he looked over at Ethan then reached over and tugged on his arm, pulling him over to lie against him. Ethan settled uneasily, putting his mug down on the tray and then stroking restless fingers over Giles' chest.

"We'll find another way," Giles said, renewing his vow. His hand rubbed Ethan's shoulder gently. "We'll find another way, and you won't have to do it."

Ethan's fingers tensed into claws resting on the top of Giles' shirt. "You're doing it again, dearheart, and I love you all the more for it, but don't. Don't do this to yourself."

"I'm not committing a theft of guilt or apologising." Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan, holding him close. "I'm merely stating what is going to happen."

"And if it doesn't? If there isn't actually an alternative for you to find, and I have to do it? You're going to blame yourself, aren't you? Not just for her pain, but for mine, and for Buffy's and Xander's, and everyone else's."

He couldn't deny that he would, but... "That won't change no matter what I say or don't say. Or do or don't do."

There was a long silence. Eventually Ethan sat up and moved the tray to the floor. "Going to do my teeth," he mumbled as he headed for the bathroom.

Giles sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes again. He wanted to be able to reassure Ethan, wanted to be able to let this go like he was urged, but he knew himself well enough to know that he couldn't. If they were forced to go through with this and end Dawn's human existence, Giles knew he'd carry the responsibility for that for the rest of his life.

Ethan returned after a few minutes, naked and smelling of toothpaste. He looked at Giles still sitting on top of the covers and shook his head. "Come on," he said, walking to Giles' side of the bed and taking his hand. "Let's get you ready for an attempt at sleep at least."

Giles let Ethan pull him to his feet as he mentally shook himself. Getting ready for bed was not something that he should need Ethan nursemaiding him through; he was losing himself too much in his own thoughts and his attempts at not thinking, and that was just not acceptable. Doing his best to push all of it to the part of his mind where he'd always submerged the uncomfortable knowledge he held, Giles concentrated on undressing himself like the grown and competent man he was supposed to be.

Ethan stepped back as Giles stripped. "Bathroom?" he enquired as Giles folded his clothes.

Giles considered for a moment then shook his head. It suddenly seemed a very long distance to walk, especially when the bed was right there. Besides the bathroom had mirrors, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to look himself in the eye just then. "Bed's good enough for now."

Ethan didn't argue. Instead, he pulled back the covers and waited for Giles to slip between them before pulling them back up and effectively tucking Giles in, just a hint of his old smirk hovering around his lips as his bent to kiss Giles' forehead.

Trying to shake the sudden feeling that he'd regressed to age four, Giles said, "You will be joining me, I trust."

Letting the smirk widen into a proper smile, Ethan nodded. "Although I fully expect to see words typed on the inside of my eyelids." He walked over to the door and turned the light off. Giles heard a quiet noise from Gwydion as the dogs settled down in their baskets, and then Ethan slipped under the covers and wrapped himself around Giles.

Giles shifted enough to hold Ethan to him, letting the briefest bit of his magic slide against Ethan's skin, more a gesture of comfort than the normal effort to arouse.

Ethan responded, snuggling closer and stroking his own magic over Giles' chest in a gesture that spoke equally of comfort. "Whatever else, Rupert, we still have each other. Always have that now. Couldn't do this without that knowledge." He snorted, Giles feeling the warm air against his shoulder. "Wouldn't do this if it were just me. Never been a hero."

"As career choices go, it's not the wisest one you can make," Giles said, thinking of all the pain and suffering he'd witnessed over the last decade. "That's probably why any hero worthy of the name never chose the role. It chose them."

"This 'heroism' is hardly going to get us garlanded with flowers and paraded through the streets on people's shoulders." Ethan moved slightly, tipping his head up to stare unfocusedly at Giles. "Does it make me as selfish as my reputation that I feel I can cope with all and any of this so long as I still have you?"

Giles tightened the grip he had on Ethan. "No more than my feeling the same way about you makes me." Oh, he would do what he had to do regardless; a lifetime of responsibility would keep him going through to the end. But having Ethan with him, he might just be able to do so and keep his soul intact.


	4. Chapter 4

Ethan threw the book across the room in disgust and then watched with embarrassment as loosened pages fluttered down like dead leaves. Skunk barked and looked between the book and her master, as if wondering if she needed to savage the offending text for him.

It was a valuable book, and he shouldn't have done that. After scrubbing at his sore eyes with his hands, he stood up, blinking as the spots cleared from his vision. "Leave it, sweet thing," he told his dog, and she came over to have her head rubbed absentmindedly by him.

He was working so very hard, harder really than he'd ever worked on a project at all, but even if he managed to find a way to make this ritual work without the impossible-to-find component, no one was going to say 'well done'. It seemed ironic that in all his years on the wrong side of the tracks he had never deliberately sat down and planned out how to kill someone.

Because it would be murder, of everything Dawn, the human girl, was. Once he'd accepted this task, the first thing Ethan had worked on was the possibility of reverting her back to a human form once the need for the Key was over and done with, but there seemed no way to do it. It wasn't like playing with people's inner beast-shapes. This was more like what Ian had warned him against back in Devon, trying to change a human form into an animal shape not natural to them, a deadly use of pattern-based magic.

Ethan stooped and lifted Skunk into his arms, burrowing his face into her long fur and hiding his tired eyes from the light of the single unshaded bulb. He mumbled to her unhappily. "I came so close to killing him with that Fyarl prank, sweetheart. So fucking close."

Normal humans were intrinsically who they were, and their animal form was a part of that. The blueprint for the one was contained within the other, like one of those visual puzzles where if you focused your eyes in one way, you saw an old hag, and another way, a young lady. Dawn-as-girl, on the other hand, had been created artificially by the annoyingly extinct monks; the shape was not her natural pattern. The blueprint for her girl-form wouldn't be contained in the Key, a multiple dimensional 'object' that had existed literally since before the beginning of time.

Well, if he was right about all that, anyway.

The monks had given Dawn that name for a reason. They had also, Ethan was sure, made her so likeable for a reason. People naturally wanted to protect her. He laughed aloud at that, but soon stopped, the echo sounding alarming. Skunk licked his face; she was such a good dog - the perfect dumb but loyal companion.

Ethan sighed. He'd been shut up for days in this ramshackle and far too cold, even with the fire roaring, little room in the basement of the left wing. He'd hardly spoken to anyone but the increasingly stressed Rupert because he had no way to answer the worried questions of his friends. Friends who, if he were forced to use the ritual he was working on, would soon be friends no longer.

Sometimes it seemed like the one thing he excelled at in life was making people hate him. It was a significant talent.

He put Skunk down and walked over to the far wall, picking up the book and the loose pages before returning to his table and chair near the fire. His limbs felt heavy as if they were taking on the weight of his thoughts.

Ethan had managed to stop Rupert watching the news that morning, but not before he himself had seen all too clearly how bad things were getting. It was all happening so quickly. England was falling apart, in the south at least. There were calls on the Prime Minister to declare a national state of emergency, although he was refusing so far, claiming that they had things under control.

A complete lie, of course; it had to be. You can't control pure Chaos with policemen and civil restrictions. And what the PM didn't realise, couldn't possibly know, was that things were only going to get worse unless Rupert and Ethan could stop them. Which was still, no matter how he looked at it, a ridiculous thought, megalomaniac and deluded. Only not.

He pushed his hair back from his forehead; it felt lank and nasty, and he contemplated talking mentally to Rupert for the comfort it would bring. He didn't though; he wasn't sure why not, and then the door to his little room opened.

"Ah, so I've finally found your new den," Ian said brightly, looking around the room. "Led me on a good hunt tracking it down, you did."

Ethan felt his spirits immediately brighten upon seeing his friend and mentor, and then almost as quickly sink again as he realised he was in for another round of questions he couldn't answer. As Skunk trotted over to say hello to Ian, Ethan closed his books and covered his notes as surreptitiously as he could manage. "Hello, old crow. Well, I suppose hunting really isn't your nature, despite your heritage."

"I've picked up a knack or two over the years," Ian replied, leaning down to greet Skunk with a proper petting.

"What can I do for you?" Ethan's voice sounded croaky; how long since his last cuppa had it been?

"I thought I might be able to tempt the fox from his den for an afternoon's ramble in the woods." Ian's voice was pleasant, his tone casual, but Ethan thought he could catch a hint of worry underneath it all. Worry for him.

Ian's suggestion sounded... unbelievably good actually. Ethan stared with weary longing at him. "I... I can't. Sorry."

"It's just a walk, Ethan," Ian said sharply. "An hour or so outside, not a month-long, worldwide expedition. The fresh air will do you good. You've been down here since an obscenely early breakfast with no break. Can you honestly tell me you've retained any meaning from what you've read in the last couple of hours?"

"No," Ethan looked down. "Well, only what I remember from the first six times of reading it." Suddenly he felt that if he didn't get out of this room, this underground bunker of his, and get some of that fresh air immediately, he'd lose all control. He stood abruptly and, after checking the fire looked safe to leave, he called Skunk to his heel with a mental whistle. He gave Ian a ragged smile. "You win. Wasn't much of a fight, was it?"

"Good thing," Ian replied as they headed out of the room and towards the more populated areas of the house. "My next step would have been to conk you on the head and drag you out of there bodily."

Ethan wasn't sure he wanted to know how much truth there was in that. "You're a good mate," he told Ian. It came out sounding a good deal more sincere and less ironic than intended.

Ian grinned. "I'm not sure you would still be saying that if we had made it to the conking stage."

"You're assuming I wouldn't stop you first, old man." There were voices up ahead, and Ethan reached out and put a hand on Ian's back, guiding him in a different direction, hoping he'd understand.

"I'm assuming that, yes," Ian agreed affably as he changed directions with no comment. "Because you wouldn't have."

"Possibly." Ethan took his hand back from Ian and ran it over his face, feeling the stubble on his chin with distaste. He hated not being clean-shaven. "Probably."

"Definitely." Ian gave him a sideways glance. "If you want to take a few moments to clean up before we go out..."

"Oh God, do I smell?" Ethan looked at Ian with something close to horror.

"That all depends on whether your nose is working or not," Ian said deadpan.

Ethan stared in dismay. "Christ, I'm sorry. Um, shower. Yes." He turned and headed back to the stairs almost at a run before he realised what a stereotype he was being and slowed himself down.

Ian caught up soon enough, chuckling. "You're really not that bad, my boy. Although I do think a shower, shave, and change of clothes will help your outlook."

"I'll never make it as a 'real' man, will I?" Ethan asked wryly.

"Not if it involves much mud and grime, no."

Ethan narrowed his eyes as they walked down the corridor to his and Rupert's suite. "I never exactly see you much less than immaculate at any point, despite the casual style of dress you prefer."

Ian shrugged. "I never had any designs on being a 'real' man either."

They walked into the bedroom, Skunk immediately going to her bed to fetch a favoured toy, and Ethan groaned. "I hate showering without Rupert."

"If that was supposed to be a proposition..." Ian began with an amused smile.

Ethan blinked at him. "Oh. Oh, well, I'd never say no, but I just meant I need Rupert as a portable water-heater. Our shower here is, to speak frankly, crap."

"Just think of what the rest of us have been making do with, without our own personal portable water-heater." Ian clapped him on the shoulder heartily. "A little cold water is good for the constitution."

Ethan gave him an exasperated look. "Yes, I remember you saying something very similar while waist-deep in the Thames. Oh, wait. No, I don't."

"There's a difference between that and this."

"Yes, that was you in the cold and wet." Ethan pulled off his tops as he headed for the bathroom and mumbled, "Don't like the cold, never have done."

"You'll survive," Ian assured him blithely.

Ethan remembered a similar blasé attitude from Ian just before he'd joined Ethan in the river, at which point his opinion on cold water had changed abruptly. Ethan wondered if he should forcibly drag his old mentor under the shower with him for a similar awakening to occur, but no, he wasn't up to that kind of hi-jinks today.

Showering quickly, although the water wasn't too bad, being tepid as opposed to freezing, Ethan took some pleasure in getting clean, especially his hair. After drying himself off and wrapping a towel hot from the radiator around his waist, he looked out into the bedroom to see what Ian was getting up to.

He was looking through one of Harriet's earlier journals that had been left in a drawer by their bed. Ethan frowned. "I think Rupert would prefer you didn't look through those," he said, apologetic but firm.

"I met her once, you know," Ian said, flipping the pages and showing no sign of having heard Ethan. "Years ago."

"Yes, I know." Ethan walked over and put the hand on the book, making it obvious he wanted to take it from Ian, but not snatching it. "She said."

"Remarkable lady. I quite liked her." He let Ethan take the book, and Ethan closed it and put it back in the drawer, which he shut firmly.

"Come and talk to me while I shave."

Ian gave him amused look. "So you can keep your eye on me?"

Ethan smiled ironically; there was little point in denying it. "I know you're looking for clues. Come on." He gestured with his head and started to walk back to the bathroom. Ian smiled and followed, still giving off a distinctly amused air.

After filling the sink with warm water, Ethan took his shaving bits and pieces from the shelf above the sink. "So how's everyone doing? I've not really seen anyone but Rupert for–" he paused to work it out, "forty-eight hours or so."

"And whose fault is that? You've become a right workaholic, haven't you?"

"Answer the question," Ethan insisted, not letting himself get distracted into areas clearly marked 'No Entry'. He opened his jar of Saville Row shaving cream.

"Everyone is fine," Ian replied, voice a study in patience. "Worried, of course, and wishing they could help."

They wouldn't, Ethan thought glumly, if they knew what it was he was doing in his little room.

He put some shaving cream in the palm of his left hand and lathered it up using his brush. It was a proper badger bristle brush as a quality shave was one of those luxuries Ethan always liked to afford himself when it was feasible. And Rupert could hardly complain about the bristle choice when he had one himself. "What's the mood regards what's happening out in the world?"

"Everyone's concerned, of course." Ian snorted very quietly. "But this crowd have all been through multiple crises and apocalypses; no one is panicking yet."

"And how long do Rupert and I have until we face a full scale intervention, do you think?" Ethan glanced sideways at Ian while applying the foam to his face. "Or is this it?" He knew his question could start another chapter of the inquisition, but the answer would be useful to have.

Ian held up his hands in protest. "Oh no, not me," he said. "Interventions are not my style. I've always left those to Lucy."

Ethan nodded. "And the others? How long until mutiny?"

"You underestimate them, I think," Ian said with another small smile. "They trust Rupert and you. If you're not telling them things, they accept you have a good reason."

A bark of dry laughter escaped Ethan before he lifted his razor, and concentrating on himself in the mirror, started to shave.

Ian watched him in silence for a few minutes, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. "You do know, I trust, that you can speak with me about anything? I've never been one for judging people; I see no reason to start doing so now, with you."

Ethan used the excuse of having to keep his jaw still while he shaved not to answer. The truth was, he was desperate to confide in Ian. The pressures on him were not of a sort that he'd ever known before, having shirked responsibility all his life until now, and he was, he knew, buckling a little under the strain. Not that Rupert, who'd had far too much experience at this sort of thing, seemed to be doing any better. Ethan had rarely seen him looking so rough as he had when they'd staggered out of bed that morning.

As he rinsed the razor in the water, Ethan repeated, "You're a good mate," and left it, regretfully, at that.

"And you're going to continue to carry the weight of these secrets alone until they squash you flat, aren't you?" Ian sighed. "You may have taken those lessons of mine on responsibility a bit too much to heart."

"It's not that," Ethan admitted quietly. "Rupert doesn't want things spoken about. Not yet." And he'd gone too far even just saying that. He sped up his shaving. Perhaps once it was done, he'd go back to his studies, refreshed somewhat and ready to strain his eyes further. It was safer than walking with Ian.

"All right," Ian said, making a throwing away gesture. "I know better than to argue with that. Just remember, my ear is always available for bending."

Ethan shot him an uneasy but genuine smile. "I appreciate it, old crow. Truly." He looked back at himself in the mirror and sighed. "There is something I could talk about, I think, but I don't know if I should. It seems wrong knowing though, and you not knowing that I do."

"Knowing what?"

Ethan shaved the last line of foam from his neck. Just the fiddly places to do now. "Give me a few seconds, eh? This isn't something to discuss without me giving you full attention." He was already regretting mentioning it.

"Sounds serious," Ian said, and Ethan could hear the curiosity in his voice.

"You're not going to like it," Ethan said bluntly. He quickly finished his shave and splashed his face with some of the moisturising skin food he'd been given for Christmas, sent from the States by Willow of all people, someone who'd never had a chance to meet the 'new him', but who seemed prepared all the same to send nice gifts to Rupert Giles' husband.

"I'm quite used to dealing with things I don't like," Ian assured him, which was probably true and made Ethan feel all the more for his mentor.

After drying his hands on a towel, Ethan approached Ian, holding an arm out in a guiding gesture. "Let's go and sit down."

While Ian went obligingly to the easy chairs around the coffee table, Ethan quickly pulled on some clothes. Skunk came and hovered hopefully around his feet, holding her squeaky chew-toy in her mouth. He smiled wanly down at her. He was neglecting everyone, it seemed. Picking his dog up, Ethan went to sit down close to Ian, staring at him and feeling painfully reluctant to start speaking.

"Oh, come now," Ian said, giving him a small smile. "It can't be as bad as all that."

Best to let Ian judge that for himself. "I told you that Harriet mentions you in her journals. She... We know how Derek died, Ian, and I'm sorry as I know that was something you wanted to keep private. We don't know all the details, but... well, enough." He made himself leave it at that.

"Oh." Ian's smile faded, and he turned his head to stare out into space.

Ethan closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to see the pain he'd brought his friend, but then he put Skunk onto the floor and moved closer to Ian, putting a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry."

Ian patted his hand absently. "I suppose I should ask if you have any questions..." He didn't sound very enthusiastic, however, more like he was offering because it was expected.

Did he have? He wanted to tell Ian that Derek's death hadn't been his fault, but really he didn't know enough to say that, and anyway, surely better people than Ethan had already tried and failed to convinced Ian of it. "I'm sorry," he said again in the end, his voice cracking. "Sorry you've had to live so long with it. Sorry Rupert and I didn't come around sooner."

Ian turned to look at him again with the ghost of a smile, although his eyes were still serious. "Everything happens when the season is right. This is your season, my dear boy, yours and Rupert's. I always knew I would have to wait."

Ethan shut his eyes briefly and made himself remember that Derek was waiting for Ian, Not much longer now. "Still want to go for that walk?" he asked with a weak smile.

Ian returned it with a stronger one, squeezing Ethan's hand that was still on his knee. "That was the point of my dragging you from your den, yes."

Nodding, Ethan stood and went to find his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed to put them on. "I won't mention this again, not without you saying something first. It just seemed wrong for you not to know we knew. Not that I'm a great judge of a thing's wrongness, but still."

"It's not a big secret," Ian said quietly, subdued. "It's a matter of public record, at least in the Coven it was. I just..." He sighed wearily. "It's difficult to talk about."

"Then don't. God knows, I don't want to bring you anymore pain than I already have." He looked around for Skunk and found black and white hindquarters sticking out from under the old-fashioned dressing table. "Come on, girl. You get to walk too."

Ian touched his shoulder to get his full attention. "Whatever pain you've inadvertently given me is far overshadowed by all the positive things your presence has brought me. So no more apologising, Ethan, all right?"

Good things. Such as the awareness Ian could happily die soon. Ethan really didn't want to think about it, not the actual death. Again, concentrate on Derek waiting for Ian; that was the best way. He drew Ian into a quick tight hug to disguise the fact that he wasn't answering, couldn't in fact answer with anything positive. Then he pulled back. "Let's go find our coats."

"Yes. I think we both could use some fresh air right about now."

They went downstairs in silence, Ethan with his senses fully opened, as he really didn't want to bump into anyone else currently. As they approached the front door, his heart sunk as he felt the approach of someone – one of the girls judging by the patterns and quite possibly Dawn. No, he just couldn't face her, not with Ian here to watch his every strained reaction.

Knowing it was wrong, Ethan nonetheless twisted the pattern of the girl to give her a sudden overwhelming desire to empty her bladder. He felt the girl reverse her path in a hurry.

"Hmm," was Ian's only comment as they made their way outside. Ethan waited, but Ian didn't say anything else.

Skunk scampered out ahead of them, but even her boisterousness seemed subdued today. Ethan frowned and sighed. "I could do with another idiotic boat ride just about now."

"We could walk down to the village," Ian offered. "Get ourselves a pint or five."

That was very tempting, but... "No." He shook his head. "Much though alcohol with good company seems an answer to my dreams currently, I can't spare that much time. Let's just traipse through the grounds for a while."

Ian smiled and gestured at the woods. "As you wish."

They walked in silence, both lost in their own thoughts perhaps. Ethan watched Skunk's boisterous antics through the long grass and envied her animal freedom again. He felt himself letting his mind align more thoroughly with hers, seeking her simplicity – living in the now, no worries providing she was fed and walked and the humans she loved were well. He thought longingly of that rabbit warren; he knew where it was now...

But no. Now was not the time for liberty, a concept that depressed him immensely. It wasn't as if he'd made any progress at all in his research over the last forty-eight hours as it was. The Judas Ritual, as he'd come to think of it, was complete, and he was confident it would work... providing he had the correct components.

"I suppose," he said carefully, as they entered the estate woods, "you've done a lot of travelling over the years, seen quite a bit."

"I've done my share," Ian replied a bit evasively.

At another time, Ethan would have found that evasion an invitation to press further, but today he just said, "You must have seen a few things, I suspect. Unique mystical bits and pieces."

"I suppose so." Ian shrugged. "After all, who hasn't? If you run in the right circles at least. Or is that the very wrong circles?"

Hoping very much he wasn't giving too much away, Ethan asked, "Ever clapped eyes on the Bachian Matrix Crystal?"

Ian frowned and was silent for so long that Ethan feared he'd given the game away. "Can't say that I have," he finally said. "Important, is it?"

"It could make a nice gift," Ethan answered weakly. "For someone. Whose birthday might be coming up."

"Oh?"

Ethan gave Ian an exasperated 'work with me here' kind of look. "I'm sure they'll be happy with a voucher or something instead." It was probably best to move on in a hurry, and he cast around rather desperately for a subject. "I've not seen you riding at all since we've been here. The mounted life not appeal to you?"

"Not when there's horses involved," Ian replied with a touch of a smile.

"So you really weren't a fox-hunter then?" Ethan had asked before and not got an answer then.

"The only fox's tail I've ever chased is yours."

Ethan grinned over at Ian, liking the feel of the expression on his face much more than the headache-inducing frowning he'd been overdoing recently. A grin was much more him, wasn't it? "I do have a very fine tail."

"It'll do," Ian said, deadpan. "Even if it doesn't have any feathers."

It was dark under the tree cover, but Ethan smiled, remembering his animal antics here with Rupert a few days earlier, before Rupert had become quite so chained to his desk and books. "We should have pinched a bottle of something before we left," he said to Ian.

"Actually," Ian pulled out a silver flask, "I did."

Ethan eyed the flask with a happy smile. "Have I mentioned how fond I am of you?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice." Ian smiled, took a drink, and then handed the flask over.

Expecting whisky, Ethan swigged it back, only to splutter when something that burnt like neat ethanol scalded its way down his gullet. "Don't tell me," he said, wiping the side of his mouth on the back of his hand as he recovered, "You don't just grow illegal substances, you distil them as well?"

"I'm very self-sufficient," Ian replied serenely.

Ethan took another and much more tentative sip from the flask before handing it back. "I'm... well, I'm not sure if impressed is a strong enough word. Where have you been all my life?"

"It's just a matter of knowing how, then experimentation to find the most pleasing recipes. That holds true for most things, I find." Ian took the flask back and took another deep swallow.

"I've never stayed in one place long enough to make learning anything like that worthwhile." Ethan said. "Not even since being back with Rupert. I suppose I'm truly of Nan's bloodstock. Have I ever told you about her?"

"I don't believe so, no." Ian handed the flask back to Ethan.

"Let's find somewhere to sit and I'll tell. That's if you're interested. She was full-blood Romany, you see."

"Was she now? That certainly explains a lot." Ian gestured at the base of a particularly large tree. "Will this do?"

There were fat roots sticking out from the ground that looked dry enough to sit on, if not particularly comfortable. Ethan nodded and lowered himself down. "What is it you think is explained by there being gypsy blood in my veins?"

"The innate talent with magic, the restlessness, the tendency to view society's rules as not applying to you." Ian grinned at him. "The usual."

"Oh yes?" Ethan grinned. "And what's your excuse?"

"Possibly I'm a changeling?"

Ethan laughed loudly before passing the flask back. "Maybe you are at that. You certainly seem to have more in common with me than any titled git I've ever met previously."

Ian took another long drink. "Met a lot, have you?"

Ethan thought about that, leaning back against the tree. "Not a great deal, no. But there was the Earl of Farnborough, and I think he should count for several normal blue-bloods."

His mentor snorted. "I've met him. He's certainly the size of several normal blue-bloods."

"My point entirely." Ethan made a toasting gesture with his empty hand. "So, my nan..." He glanced at Ian to check there was genuine interest.

Ian looked back, patiently waiting for him to continue, and Ethan found he was feeling a little embarrassed.

Snorting softly at himself, he spoke almost as if reciting. "She was a kind, wise woman who looked after me when she could until they took her away. The Rom tongue was her first language, and she used to talk to me in it. I think I must have understood some at one time, but I don't recall any now. I... I think she was a hedge witch, but I'm just guessing really. My father" –he couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice– "bullied her, and she withstood it with dignity and equanimity."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman." Ian smiled and handed him the flask again. "And I'm sure she'd be very proud of you."

Ethan took a deep swig; he was getting used to the burn now. "What was your childhood like, my Lord Crow?"

"Materially comfortable, emotionally difficult," Ian replied. "I was the bane of my father's existence, and he was the bane of mine."

Ethan raised the flask again. "Here's to fathers," he toasted dryly, before passing it back to Ian. There was a deeply pleasant humming spreading throughout Ethan's body, and his mind was taking on that ever so desirable haze. He was relaxing whether he wanted to or not. An evil little thought came into his mind as he considered Ian drinking beside him. "Want to play Double Dare?"

Ian laughed. "I rather suspect that could be very dangerous." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder. "So let's have at it."


	5. Chapter 5

A familiar voice, albeit assuming a bloody stupid accent, cut through Giles' deep concentration. "Well, lookee who I've finally found. Guess they'll make a detectoring man of Mama Harris' lil' boy after all."

Giles looked up from the book he was currently trying to decipher to see a grinning Xander standing in the doorway. At his feet sat Gwydion wearing the canine equivalent of Xander's expression.

"Interesting penthouse suite, Giles." Xander nodded as he looked around the old nursery. "I can see why you wanted to keep it a secret. We might all want one."

"Is there something I can do for you, Xander?" Giles asked, carefully masking his irritation at being interrupted. He needed to be researching. He needed to find an alternative to sacrificing Dawn.

"Yep. You can put that pen down for a start." Xander ambled over towards Giles' desk.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. Seen yourself in a mirror lately?"

So the task was starting to take a toll on his appearance. Considering what was at stake, that wasn't something Giles could afford to worry about. "I really am very busy, Xander."

"Yeah? Hadn't noticed." Xander's smile was a little exasperated. "It's time to take a break, Giles. Or maybe, just maybe, it's time to ask for help."

Some burdens shouldn't have to be shared, Giles thought, not wanting to lay this one on Xander unless there was no choice. On the other hand, how much of what he'd read in the last hour had really penetrated?

"All right," he finally said. "Perhaps a small break."

Xander grinned encouragingly. "That's the spirit. Come down to one of the lounges or studies or sitting rooms or whatever else you Brits call the room with the comfy chairs."

"The chairs in here are quite comfortable."

"Not to want to seem un-real-manly or anything, but it smells funny in here, Giles." Xander looked around the nursery, his gaze very obviously falling on plates of old uneaten food, and the ashtrays and empty bottles by the sofa.

The place was perhaps looking more rundown than usual, but nothing that would have made it smell. Except... "Yes, perhaps you're right," Giles said standing quickly. "A little fresh air can't hurt." He hustled Xander towards the door, hopefully before the young man figured out that what he was smelling was mostly the residue of the excellent weed that Ian had plied them with not that long ago.

Xander let himself be hustled, but he was frowning. "So you're not even eating the food Ethan brings up to you? But you are big with the drinking, if those bottles don't lie. The last time I saw you acting like this, Giles, I found myself having to think about orgies, and you and Ethan, in the same sentence. Now agreed, that doesn't have the same sting now as it had then, but if there's some old demon pal of yours about to come a-calling, I'd kinda like to know."

Ignoring just how close Xander had come to guessing part of the truth of what had been going on in the nursery, Giles said mildly, "Those bottles aren't all mine. And they aren't all recent additions."

"Good to hear it. And the likelihood of demon callers?"

"While not ruling anything out the way Chaos is going, I'm not expecting any callers from mine and Ethan's mutual past." No. If it came down to it, they would be the ones having to play the monster.

"Also good to hear." They made their way into the more inhabited areas of the house, Gwydion loping along behind them. Xander poked his head though a doorway, and having apparently ascertained the room was empty, encouraged Giles inside. "Come on. No one here to witness your Lost Weekender costume."

Giles looked down at his outfit of old jumper and comfortable pair of jeans. "Really now, I don't think it's quite that bad."

There was a mirror over the mantelpiece. Xander gestured to it expressively. "Judge for yourself. Notice, won't you, the several days of stubble, the red-rimmed eyes, the haunted look... and just what is haunting you, Giles?"

Staring at his reflection, Giles had to admit he did look like a man living with ghosts. "Believe me, Xander, you don't want to know."

"How about you let me be the judge of that? You and Ethan have been hiding yourselves away – in separate rooms far as we can tell, which is weird in and of itself. Ethan's looking like a man with a price on his head, twitching if one of us even talks to him. And you? You, we don't even get to see at all. At Christmas, you gave me a damn good speech about how much you trusted me and wanted me to share your burdens or whatever. So how about that?"

Giles met Xander's gaze in the mirror. "This is the kind of burden I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

Xander nodded seriously. "I get that, but you're going to tell me anyway. Share the load, boss-man."

"Xander–" Giles tried one more time to decline.

He felt Xander's hand on his arm. "Giles, I'm not backing down. You'd never let any of us get away with the way you're acting. Maybe when we were kids, it was okay to have one rule for you, another for the rest of us, but now, boss or not, you get to play with the same set of rules as the rest of us. And the rule 3a, section 23, paragraph 27 of the Scooby-Adult code says – 'Tell Xander!'"

Giles sighed, giving in. He moved over and collapsed onto the couch. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm well and truly warned." Xander came over and sat beside him. He said nothing more, just looked at Giles with a sympathetic gaze.

"We have found," Giles said, directing his own gaze down at his hands as he spoke, "information that suggests that to do whatever it is Ethan and I must do, we will need the Key. In its original form."

Xander did not react. The reason why quickly became apparent. "Huh?"

"Part of the prophecy seems to involve turning Dawn back to the Key's original form."

Xander shook his head. "No, you must have that wrong. That was a Glory thing, and Glory's dead. Isn't she?"

"As far as I know, but she was only using Dawn for her own ends. From what we've been able to glean so far, it seems that this might have been part of Dawn's original purpose." Giles sighed. "And she can't do it in human form."

Xander's expression was showing the first signs of taking Giles seriously. "What might have been? She can't do what?"

"The exact words were, 'they will battle with the Great Bear for dominion over the "word of God", using it to free the "Prisoner in the Void".' Word of God in this case is one of the names given to the Key."

"Not seen those words in any version of the Prophecy you've let us see." Xander was looking mulish. "And I didn't hear where it says that Dawn... can't be Dawn anymore."

"No, I haven't let you see this particular prophecy," Giles agreed. "Because it's not something I want getting back to Dawn unless there's no other choice. It's real, from some writings at the Vatican that my grandmother managed to get a look at once. We've managed to double-check almost every component of it."

Xander combed his fingers back through his hair, a deep frown now creasing his forehead. "But... but we turn her back again afterwards, right? Oh wait, you said 'choice'. There's a choice?"

"That's what I've been trying to find," Giles said, the weariness that had settled into his bones making even his voice seem heavy. "Another choice."

"And the Ray Milland impression is because you can't find one." Xander nodded grimly.

Giles pressed his lips together in a thin line. "I'm still looking," he said stubbornly.

"Then we all look," Xander said determinedly. "The more eyes the better. I'll work twice as hard to make up for my shortfall." He made an attempt at a grin; it wasn't very convincing.

"I will appreciate any help you could give us, Xander," Giles said, heartfelt, "but as to telling the others, do you really want Dawn to find out about this?"

"I..." Xander looked uncertain. "I'm not sure. I mean, she'll have to know if... Giles, if there's no other choice, and this has to be done to save the world again, we can change her back after, can't we? Tell me we can change her back."

Giles couldn't bring himself to say anything, but his silence seemed answer enough.

"No." Xander shook his head vigorously. "There has to be another way."

"That's what I've been searching for," Giles pointed out again.

"No wonder you look like something left in Giddy's breakfast bowl." The words weren't encouraging, but Xander's expression was sympathetic. "You're sure this extra prophecy is genuine?"

Giles nodded. "My grandmother spent years researching all she could about the Guardians and what they're to do. And we have, as I said, found ratifying sources."

Xander nodded and stood up again, apparently in order to pace. "So what's Ethan doing then? Why are you two all segregated?"

"Ethan," Giles began, his insides tightening as they did whenever he thought about it, "is researching what we will need to do if I can't find another choice."

Xander stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "Turning Dawn... Making Dawn what she..." He rolled his eye. "Killing her. It is killing, isn't it? 'Cause whatever the Key is, it's not alive in the way we are, is it?"

"It... would end her existence as a human, yes."

"No wonder he looks so fucking guilty." Xander had said it more or less under his breath.

"You think he wants to be doing this?" Giles asked, his voice sharpening as he defended Ethan. "Do you think he doesn't know what this will cost him, cost us, if it has to be done? Not only losing Dawn, but the rest of you as well. Because he's convinced that none of you would be able to forgive him."

Xander immediately looked ashamed. "No, I don't think that. I... sorry. Kinda in shock here, Giles."

Giles nodded, accepting the apology. "I can understand that. I'm perhaps more on edge than is healthy at the moment myself." He watched Xander pace for a minute then softly admitted what he couldn't to Ethan. "And Ethan isn't completely alone in his fears."

Xander stared at him then opened his mouth to speak, but succeeded only in making fish faces before sighing and coming back to sit beside Giles. "So this is what it really means to be a Watcher, eh?"

Giles nodded. "Now you know why I went out of my way to try and escape it."

Xander ran his fingers through his hair again, pulling at it. "Giles, I don't know if I... she's my friend. If she's unwilling, if we have to do this, and she says no, even if the world's about to end, I don't know if I... No, I'm hedging. I know just fine. I know I can't. I remember, back when Glory was the threat, I remember you were prepared to kill Dawn if you had to. I can't be that man. I can't kill her any more than I could kill Willow, or Buffy... or you." He looked helplessly at Giles. "I'm the heart, remember? You and Buffy, head and hand, you're the ones who could..."

Giles put a hand on Xander's shoulder and squeezing. "No one expects you to. This, if it comes to it, and I am still very far from admitting that it will, is mine and Ethan's burden to shoulder. Not yours."

Xander stared at him, his pain writ clearly across his face. "I... hope to all things bright and beautiful it doesn't come to that. So... let me help? Even if all I'm doing is making sure you eat and sleep and all those things that without them, your ability to find solutions won't be up to much."

"I will be very glad to have you," Giles said, heartfelt.

"Right." Xander rubbed his face, digging his fingers under his eye patch as if the socket was bothering him. "Uh, I'm sure I'll have lots of questions just as soon as the merry-go-round in my head stops spinning, but in the meantime, how about we get some food actually into you, rather than sitting on plates growing things that would make my old Biology teacher orgasmic. Uh, that would be Mr Hodgson, and not Miss French, 'cause she only got orgasmic when there was a nice juicy boy-head to bite off right in front of her–"

"Xander," Giles interrupted, not unkindly. "You're babbling."

"Easier than thinking," Xander admitted with a weak smile. "Food? Come on, your body's human even if your brain's bigger and better than most." He urged Giles from the sofa.

"I do seem to have developed the bad habit of having someone go out for assorted junk food during marathon research sections," Giles admitted, letting Xander pull him up.

They made their way to the kitchens where Mrs B. was busy at work preparing the evening meal. She took one look at Giles and snorted. "Your dear mother would've had my spleen as a footwarmer for letting you walk around looking like one of them zombies from the films. Go and sit down next door and mind you eat everything I bring you." She wiped her hands on her apron and patted Xander on the back. "Well done, lad. I'll bring you in something special too."

"Why am I feeling like the object of a conspiracy?" Giles asked bemusedly, as he obediently headed for the dining room.

"Ah, what could I say, Giles?" Xander grinned as they sat down at the long table. "She offered me a slice of something that had whipped cream and homemade blackberry jelly inside it. Not to mention the dark chocolate spirals."

"I should have known it. Sold out for patisserie goods."

Xander looked at him more seriously. "Did you really think people wouldn't notice?"

"I hadn't really given it much thought," Giles admitted.

"Everyone's worried sick about you both." Xander looked down at the table surface, tracing his finger around the grain. "Guess they're gonna worry about me now too. It's like a Bodysnatcher thing. One by one, we'll turn into silent, rarely seen wraiths of our former selves."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that. We'll find the solution we need and be able to rejoin the land of the living."

"What's the timetable on this?"

Giles sighed. "We haven't discovered that either, but it doesn't feel like very long. Ethan might be able to provide a more concrete answer with his reading of the patterns."

"But you've set yourself a schedule, right? I mean, things are getting majorly Book of Revelations out there in the big blue yonder, and unless I've not so much gotten the wrong end of the stick as a different stick altogether, that's what you and Ethan are supposed to be stopping. So how long do we have to find the alternative 'til we have to turn up at Dawn's side looking like pall-bearers?"

"I don't know." It had been a question he'd avoided asking himself. "We should probably include Ethan in this discussion. He probably has thought about some of the things that I've been too busy to consider."

Xander nodded. He had, Giles noticed, already started to look a little haunted, but nonetheless, Xander seemed to be thinking things through in a sensible, intelligent fashion. "If you tell me where he's taken to lurking, I could go and find him. He could probably do with some food too."

"I can't think of any time that Ethan couldn't do with some food," Giles said with a fond smile. "But I can get him without you having to miss the delivery of your bribe." He reached out for Ethan's mind...

And couldn't find it.

Xander seemed to notice Giles' confusion. "Problem?"

At that moment, the door opened, and Mrs B. came in with Giddy dancing around her legs. She was carrying a stacked tray. "I'm not sure," Giles replied distractedly as he did a more conscious search for Ethan's presence. Maybe Ethan was just shutting everything out while he concentrated on his research?

Mrs B. put a plate in front of him of cold meats, hot cauliflower cheese and some bubble and squeak. Giles couldn't afford to pay it any more attention than that currently, but his stomach had other ideas, contracting painfully in hunger. "You make sure he eats it, young man," Mrs B. said, apparently to Xander.

Giles still couldn't find Ethan, and that was starting to alarm him. "It looks quite excellent, Mrs. Bobbrick, really. So much so that I would feel terribly guilty if I ate it without Ethan." He stood. "So if you can just keep it warm for me, I'll go get him, and we'll both enjoy your excellent cooking."

She put her hands on her hips. "Rupert Alfred Benedict Giles, if you think–"

"Mrs B," Xander interrupted quickly. "Don't. I think something might really be wrong here."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Giles said, hoping that it was the truth. "But I just need..." Ethan. He needed Ethan. "Gwydion!" He called his dog to his side as he headed out of the dining room and down to where he knew Ethan had ensconced himself.

He heard running footsteps behind him, and Xander caught up. "This ever happened before?" he asked.

"No," he replied tersely. "Although granted, it's only been a few months that we've been able to talk this way..."

"There's no answer?" Xander checked. "I mean, I thought that was what seemed to be happening. Couldn't he just have fallen asleep at the desk?"

Giles shook his head. "Usually, I'd be at least able to sense that he was asleep."

They were walking fast, Giles' anxiety about Ethan growing. No matter how loud his mental shout, there was no answer. Xander looked around the damp basement corridor as they emerged from the stairwell. "Hmm, this isn't the first place I would've thought to look for him. Why does he want to hide himself down here?"

"Consider what he's researching," Giles replied as he quickened their pace yet again. "Of course he wants to hide away while he's doing it."

"Point," Xander acknowledged grimly and said no more.

The door to Ethan's hideaway was shut, but Giles could already feel he wasn't in there. Nonetheless, he opened the door and took in the closed books on the desk, the papers put into folders but not hidden away. Anxiety was quickly ratcheting up towards full-blown panic. Closing his eyes, Giles tried one more time to reach Ethan, all but mentally screaming his name. Then he listened with everything he had.

Silence.

But in the quiet, Giles did recognise that he still had that old sense of Ethan's location that he'd had since Devon, and he grabbed onto it tightly. Without a word, he stalked out of the room at near full speed, following that tiny mental tug.

"Giles!" Xander called, trotting behind him. "Hold up. What's going on?" Gwydion wuffed loudly as well, in a way that sounded almost as if he were asking the same question.

"Tracking Ethan," Giles muttered curtly, too much of his awareness on doing just that to offer any greater explanation.

Xander apparently had the sense to shut up after that, and when Giles opened the front door and began to jog across the gravel to the fields, Xander delayed briefly and then caught up, carrying coats. He thrust Giles' at him. "At least get your arms in it."

Not wanting to expend the energy to argue, Giles shrugged into the coat, even as his Ethan sense was leading him down into the trees that surrounded the field. The sky was darkening as the sun sank low in the sky and behind a rising cloud cover.

Maybe Ethan had gone to their cottage, not that that would explain the radio silence. Giles couldn't think of anything good that could have resulted in this deadening of contact. His directional sense of Ethan, which seemed such a dull thing without their mental link, told him he was getting close now and memories of searching out fox-Ethan on the Heath returned to haunt him.

Giles rushed through the trees and suddenly found himself on his hands and knees, having tripped over a root. Xander's hand appeared at his elbow, helping him up. "Careful there. Maybe try the headfirst charge thing a little slower?"

At that moment, Gwydion seemed to catch a scent and barked loudly before taking off through the undergrowth. The sense of Ethan was in the same direction so Giles headed after his dog as quickly as he could. Brambles caught at his clothes and ripped at his hands, and judging by the swearing, Xander was faring similarly behind him. Feeling desperate, haunted by memories of a time he didn't want to revisit, Giles pushed his way through regardless and into a clearing... where what he saw stopped him dead.

The clearing had a look of something from Peter Pan; the foliage and undergrowth was lush and hued with unrealistic brightness. There was what looked for all the world like a miniature whirlwind buzzing away in one corner, where Skunk was repeatedly pouncing on it and then backing away, sneezing. And Ethan...

Ethan was lying with his head in Ian's lap and a silver flask raised in his hand. The faces of both men were covered in what looked like war paint made of mud and leaf-sap, and there were twigs and other less recognisable objects apparently deliberately woven into their hair. Both were gaping at Giles and Xander like guilty schoolboys caught behind the bikesheds together.

Giles stared for a long moment before asking, "What the bloody hell are you doing?" the fear he'd been dealing with making his voice sharp.

Ethan sat up and wriggled around to face Giles, making a half-hearted attempt to comb the Lord of the Flies decoration from his hair. "Er, relaxing?" he said weakly, looking, at least under the war paint, almost comically dismayed.

"Yup. Sure look 'relaxed' to me all right," Xander agreed from behind Giles.

The fear was slowly draining away now that Giles saw that Ethan was all right, if well on his way to being several full riggings to the wind. In its place, a shaky relief was left. "I couldn't reach you."

Ian seemed to be doing his best to become one with the tree that he leant on, but Ethan frowned and staggered to his feet. "Couldn't reach me? But..." His frown deepened, and Giles thought he saw a slight echo of his own panic pass across Ethan's face. "Rupert?"

Giles closed the distance between them and wrapped Ethan in his arms. "I'm right here."

Ethan smelled of strong alcohol and greenery, but Giles didn't care. "But why...?" Ethan started. "Where...?" There was a pause during which Ethan's arms tightened around Giles, and then suddenly Ethan exclaimed, "Fuck!" He pulled back from Giles, looking obviously alarmed. "We're being blocked. Rupert, there's nothing wrong with us. Something external's blocking us, and it's also blocking my awareness of the wards!"

Behind them, Ian surged to his feet, eyes simultaneously blazing and distant. "Found it," he muttered. "Ethan, take a look at the pattern in the north-eastern corner."

Ethan's eyes unfocused and then he muttered, "fuck," again under his breath. "Someone or something's trying to break through the wards. We have to get there, stop them..."

"Right." Giles slid his thoughts over into combat mode. "Xander, go back to the house and warn the others. We may need the Slayers. Take the dogs to guide you back to us afterwards." He looked at Ian and Ethan. "Can you pinpoint where it is?"

As Xander and the dogs ran off, Ethan nodded and pulled on Giles' hand. "I'll lead you. Ian, are you going to fly or run with us?"

"I'll fly ahead, see what I can scout out," Ian replied, already stripping off his clothes.

Ethan bundled the garments up as they were handed to him and then tucked them under his arm. They parted without another word, Ian fluttering into the increasingly darkened sky, and Ethan pulling Giles through the trees and undergrowth at a speed that would have been dangerous for Giles alone. "I hate," Ethan said between breaths, "not being able... to hear you."

Giles squeezed Ethan's hand as they continued to run. "So do I. When I couldn't reach you, I..."

Ethan gave him a quick, worried glance as they ran. "God, I'm sorry... you must have been... bugger."

"Yes, that about sums it up."

They quickly grew too breathless to converse further. Had their mental link been working, it would have been different. Ethan led him downhill to the river, thankfully to one of the stepping stone crossings, and then up the meadow on the other side to another area of woodland. He paused them before they went in, and after catching his breath for a few moments, wheezed, "Well?" and Giles realised Ethan was talking to the crow who had fluttered down from a nearby branch.

The crow shimmered and changed into a naked and serious Ian. "Quite a little party happening beyond the wards," he imparted quickly. "A whole passel of conjured demons, a couple of mages controlling them, and..." He glanced at Giles specifically. "Two Slayers."

"Bugger," Ethan softly swore, handing Ian his clothes. "They're not through yet though. The wards are holding; I'd know now if they weren't. Can the three of us...?" It was obvious what he was asking.

"We have to," Giles said, tight-lipped. "Least until Xander and the others get here."

"I guess this is where we discover if we're all we're cracked up to be," Ethan said darkly, but he squeezed Giles' hand, sending magic into him. To Ian, who was finishing a hurried re-garbing, Ethan said, "We could do with the mental link back if you spot the opportunity."

Ian nodded. "I will make it a priority. It shouldn't be too difficult to unravel the blocking spell's pattern. I'll wait until we attack, however; if I do it now they'll know we're here."

"Right." Ethan turned back to Giles. "Are we going for the charge-in-like-heroes, or the sneak-around-and-assassinate approach? I vote for the latter. Although I suppose that might be difficult with the hand holding... I don't think we should stop though, do you?" He frowned. "Remember the attack in our house?"

Giles squeezed Ethan's hand tightly, sensing how nervous Ethan was from the near-babble and wishing most fervently he could speak directly to his mind. "I do. And we got out of that one with nary a scratch. We'll be fine now too. All we have to do is hold them off until reinforcements arrive, but I'm quite sure we'll be able to do far more than that. We're working together, after all."

Ethan closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he seemed calmer, more centred. "Love you," he said, regardless of Ian hearing. "Lead on, Captain, my Captain."

Nodding, Giles turned his mind to strategy. "I doubt we can pick them off one by one without them noticing, but if we can strike from concealment at first, we may be able to do significant damage before they can precisely locate us."

With a grim smile, Ethan said, "The others are on their way back to us, or at least Skunk is. Ian, do you want to go around behind them? Rupert and I can be the main target from the front once our cover is broken." He tugged at Giles' hand. "This way, dearheart. I'll take us as close as I dare."

Before they started moving again, Giles pulled Ethan to him and kissed him hard. "For luck," he murmured as he let him go again. Ethan looked for a few seconds as if he was going to crumple; he leant heavily on Giles. Then he took a deep breath and without another word spoken, the three of them made their way into the trees.

***

It was almost pitch black now under the cover of the trees, any moon or starlight blocked by the dense cloud. It was raining too, although quite gently; Ethan could hear the slow, heavy drops landing in the leaf mulch around him. He had half a mind to try to call up a storm, but that wouldn't be fair on Xander and their Slayers, who would have no protection from it.

Ethan kept a tight hold on Rupert's hand, trying to give him some limited pattern awareness – not enough to overwhelm him, but sufficient to sense the location of their enemies. Whether Ethan was successful or not was hard to tell without the telepathic link. Bugger it, he'd be nervous enough facing this even without the link sabotaged.

He was attempting to block the awareness of their presence from the would-be invaders, twisting the patterns of demon nose and Slayer sight, but he didn't dare try to twist the senses of the mages; they'd know immediately if he tried. It would help if Ethan wasn't so bloody drunk. He was having to expend too much power just keeping his head clear.

So much for relaxing.

The wards were still unbroken, which meant they, the good guys, and wasn't that still an amusing thought, could move through them, but the demons and mages couldn't. That was no small blessing. The Slayers, however, seemed to have no problem and moved back and forth through the anti-Chaos barrier as the mages worked on breaking the wards. If Ethan and Rupert didn't act soon, the wards would fall, and all the bastards would be through.

Ethan had known it wouldn't take long for their enemies to find them here. Now they had, even if this lot were effectively repelled, the home team could consider themselves besieged. The fox in him really didn't like that. Being faster than hounds and horses over rough and wooded terrain, foxes normally ran from the hunt; if they found themselves earthed, it was all over for them.

He squeezed Rupert's hand again, trying somehow to impart urgency, and Rupert squeezed back tightly, almost to the point of pain. Distantly, Ethan could feel Rupert gathering his magic and then felt him release it as, with an almost silent murmur of Latin, Rupert threw a wall of fire at the closest mage.

The bloke staggered back under a large ball of flame, flailing his arms about and screaming in a way that chilled Ethan to his marrow. The fire lit up the night, revealing the shocked faces of Frannie's brainwashed Slayers. The gaze of the other, female, Chaos mage, however, immediately turned towards where Ethan and Rupert were hiding.

Their cover obviously broken, Ethan promptly extended his pattern senses to this woman, looking for vulnerabilities. She was casting something, presumably a spell meant to protect her from another fireball, but she was also pointing right at them, and the Slayers broke into a run through the barrier. At least the demons were still trapped on the other side.

Rupert concentrated on the Slayers. "Concresce!" he uttered, throwing impressively large amounts of magic at the two girls. Ethan felt Rupert using his loaned pattern sense to direct his power to the weakest parts of the auras surrounding the girls, thickening the air and holding the Slayers fast.

Well, briefly anyway, but they were already starting to break free. Christ. They were both so young; they looked barely fifteen, but they fought with a ferocity that was alarming. One wore a Muslim headscarf, the other seemed a typical western bottle-blonde teen, but they were clearly very used to working as a partnership.

Frowning, Ethan rapidly decided the Slayers had to be the priority. While the remaining mage could potentially reach through with non-Chaotic spells, Ethan would hopefully have some warning of that first. Which all sounded like it was good reasoning, but it was hard to tell really as Ethan was twisting his own patterns wildly to quell both drunkenness and panic.

So he strengthened Rupert's binding, weaving through it, trying to ensure that it stretched with the girls' punches and kicks, but didn't give way. At that moment, something gave way inside them, however, and he could suddenly hear Rupert in his head again, swearing; Ian had broken the dampening spell.

Oh, the wonderful old crow; Ethan filled with relief and gratitude. His and Rupert's magic immediately seemed to meld more smoothly, and in the middle of the melee, Ethan found a moment to close his eyes and relish the return of their full connection.

 _'Try not to hurt them if possible,_ ' Rupert sent as they continued to struggle to hold back the two Slayers. _'They're not to blame._ '

 _'I'm only working with your spell, dearheart. I hope Ian's all right. I think he was behind them, on the bad side of the wards, and I'm not sure where the big demon with the horn has gone.'_ And he couldn't spare the attention to try to look, not with the Slayers putting all their supernatural strength into trying to break free and the mage quite clearly in the process of spell-casting. It was a strange fight, he and Rupert just standing there as if watching the young girls engaging in some peculiar form of performance art.

The sound of a crow cawing let them know exactly how Ian had managed to get close enough to the attackers to break the spell without being seen. _'He seems to be providing aerial support,'_ Rupert observed with a bit of dry humour, grunting aloud as the two Slayers hit the same point in his spell. ' _I like it much better when they're on our side_.'

' _As do I, but I've probably had more experience at being on the wrong side of their strength than you have. Bugger!_ ' Ethan winced as one of the Slayers managed briefly to get a foot through Rupert's spell. _'They've worked out far too fast that they need to concentrate their energies in one place._ ' It was becoming quite a strain holding the Slayers within their makeshift cage, and it was at best a stalemate. Ethan could only hope their own Chosen Ones got here soon.

' _Any good Slayer has an instinct for finding the weakest point,_ ' Rupert replied, the strain showing in his thoughts. ' _I'd rather these two weren't quite that good._ ' The girls' shouts and curses were echoing into the night, and it was so obvious from them that these were just normal teenage girls aside from their Slayer abilities, not really enemies at all. Ethan cursed Francesca Travers for doing this; it would hurt Rupert at a deep level if he were forced to harm a Slayer.

Ethan was concentrating so hard on maintaining the pattern of Rupert's binding, that were it not for Ian's loud cawed warning from above, he would undoubtedly have fallen foul of the large, scaled demon dressed in some sort of uniform that was suddenly beside him and swinging a bloody great sword at his head.

With a yell of surprise, Ethan sprang backwards, pulling Rupert with him. The remaining mage must have dredged up a non-chaotic summoning spell from somewhere and cast it through the wards. Maybe.

His and Rupert's concentration well and truly buggered by the sudden appearance of the demon, Ethan felt a sense of released pressure as the binding around the Slayers ruptured. but he couldn't worry about that for the moment as the sodding demon was swinging again.

It was Rupert who pulled him out of the demon's way this time, just as the welcome sound of familiar barking heralded the arrival of the dogs, and thank God, Kat and Megan.

Their Slayers immediately went to take on the other two, but not before Kat had yelled out, "Giles!" and tossed Rupert a sword.

Okay. Now the tide was turning. Ethan released Rupert's hand so that his husband could fight the uniformed demon, and not a moment too soon. Metal clashed on metal. Knowing Rupert had needed the connection their hands had provided, Ethan improvised wildly and wove a host of connecting nodes between their patterns, much as he often did during sex, but connecting a great deal more this time. Something new for them, but it seemed to work.

With magic and swordplay combined, Rupert immediately began to show the demon it had picked the wrong pair to be summoned against. The four Slayers in the meantime seemed to be balancing each other out nicely. That left the non-crispy-fried mage and the other demons, all on the other side of the wards. But that hadn't stopped the mage, at least, being a problem.

 _'Take whatever you need from me,'_ Ethan sent to Rupert, standing back to back with him. In the meantime, he sent his awareness out to the other side of the wards. He still couldn't spot Ian, but he certainly could spy his actions as there was a complicated pattern being woven around the mage that, when finished, would act like a type of tangle net. The Chaos mage was, of course, trying to stop Ian's weaving, but at least it was keeping the bitch occupied.

All right, so he wasn't needed there currently. Seeing Skunk noisily tormenting the demons from, uncannily, just inside the safety of the wards, Ethan remembered her hi-jinks from earlier. He was just attempting to use what Ian had taught him in the glade to create a miniature tornado, when he felt a heavy blow to the back of his shoulder, followed by a burning pain.

He fell forward onto his knees and couldn't keep back an instinctive call of, "Rupert!"

Bugger, it hurt. He rolled around as quickly as he could to defend himself from further blows. Then Rupert was there in front of him, shining brightly with magic and righteous wrath. His sword flashed in a deadly arc, and the demon that had just clipped Ethan's shoulder fell dead, body in one direction, head in the other.

Even as Ethan struggled up and tentatively felt at his shoulder with the hand of his uninjured arm, he was staring at Rupert in admiration. "You're magnificent, dear-to-my-heart."

"Bloody thing got past me," Rupert all but growled. He stepped closer to Ethan, reaching out the hand not holding his sword to check Ethan's shoulder. "How badly are you hurt?"

Ethan's hand had come away bloody. His pattern senses told him it was a wide gash but not too deep, however. "Oh, a near mortal wound for sure," he replied, with what he hoped was a reassuring grin, but was probably a little too shaky for that. "But I'll fight bravely on like the hero I am." Mentally, he sent, _'And later, I'll show you just how bloody impressive you were...'_

Brave talk was easy when he was repressing his body's every fear response.

There was a yell of outrage from the Slayers, and Ethan whirled around to find that Kat and Megan had managed to get the girl with a headscarf down and apparently out. The remaining Slayer was backing off hurriedly. At that moment, Xander arrived with Matthew and Dawn, but on the wrong side of the sodding wards.

Hell! Matthew should have been able to tell where they were. The bitch mage saw the three of them and turned to face them, raising her hands to cast a spell...

Then Ethan felt as much as saw Ian's pattern trap snap shut around the mage. There was a bright flash visible only to those who could see magic, and she staggered. Pattern sight showed that every thread of her spells and her power had been severed, cut off and contained by Ian's weaving.

Christ, the old bastard was good. Ethan wouldn't have had a clue how to do something like that. The remaining Slayer turned tail and ran for it.

Feeling increasingly useless in comparison to just about everyone else, Ethan held back as Rupert ran through the wards to help their friends against the demons that the idiots had inadvertently run into. Not that they seemed to need much help seeing as Matthew, of all people, had just apparently blasted the head off one with a very loud shotgun blast.

Beheading demons was clearly a Gilesian trait.

Shaking his own head a little, Ethan knelt by the fallen Muslim girl and began to tie her up the old-fashioned way using her clothes and his belt; even with Slayer-strength, it would at least hold her up a bit. "Go!" he said to Megan and Kat, "help against the demons!"

The girls did as they were told, but there wasn't much left to do. The cutting of the mage's power had also cut off her control of the demons, and their first action was to turn on the mage that had mastered them. She disappeared underneath a demonic scrum, and her screams quickly turned to noises Ethan didn't want to think about too much.

After they had finished, the demons seemed more interested in getting away than carrying on the fight, making them easy targets to pick off as they ran.


	6. Chapter 6

And that was that; the fight was over.

They had two dead human mages, several dead demons, one captured Slayer, the other having skedaddled somewhere. Hopefully the Council could locate her later. And assorted minor wounds, of course. Ethan wished his shoulder would remember it was only a minor wound and stop hurting as if he'd been poked right through with a burning lance or something similar.

He was dog-tired, and now the adrenaline was draining away, he couldn't keep up the controls he had been maintaining on his own body. He felt himself becoming drunk again, and the fear he'd been denying time or energy to was starting to make his body shake. He wasn't cut out for this sort of thing; he really wasn't.

He was also cold and wet and had twigs in his hair.

It was better to not worry Rupert though. So he stayed standing where he was and pretended to be studying the unconscious Slayer's patterns.

There was some quiet discussion over the corpses, and then Kat, Xander and Rupert walked slowly back to where Ethan and the captured Slayer were. Rupert immediately went to Ethan and wrapped his arms around him while the other two went to the Muslim girl, picking her up.

"They're taking her back to the house," Rupert murmured to Ethan as they watched them start off through the trees. "Matthew and the other two girls are going to see to the disposal of the bodies."

Ethan couldn't resist pressing closely to Rupert and burying his face into the crook of Rupert's neck. "Is everyone all right? Those bodies can't be nice to look at."

"What bodies are? But Dawn's seen such things before, and Megan is a Slayer through and through." He sighed and nuzzled Ethan's forehead. "Everyone's fine. Some cuts and bruises, nicks and scrapes, but nothing more serious than that. This–" Rupert gently touched Ethan's shoulder above where it was gashed, "seems to be the worst we've suffered. We were incredibly lucky."

They really had been. "I expect Kat will have something herbal to splash on my shoulder and make it all better. I need to check the integrity of the wards, but then, I'd rather like to go home, and please, no more books tonight? I'm so tired, Rupert."

"No books, I promise." Rupert kissed him gently. "After everything that's happened, I just need to hold you for a while."

Regardless of the pain it provoked from his shoulder, Ethan tightened his arms around Rupert and more or less clung for a few moments. But his pattern senses told him that while Rupert might not be drunk and injured, he was just as drained from days of high stress and research as Ethan was, and it wasn't fair to lean on him, no matter how strong and sturdy he felt. So Ethan reluctantly pulled back and began to wearily poke about in the wards, checking they remained sound.

"I'll see to that, dear boy," Ian said, walking up to them as he pulled his jumper over his head and put on his coat. Ethan hadn't even sensed him coming. His mentor smiled at him. "You two look like you've been put through several wringers. Back to the house with you, go on! Leave the grunt work to your elder."

Ethan gave the older man a rather desperate glance, suddenly feeling every inch the trainee, but he didn't have the strength to argue. "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Rupert added, tightening his arms around Ethan as if to hold him up. "It's much appreciated." Ian just nodded and waved them off in the direction of the house again.

They walked in silence to start with, their dogs finding them and keeping them company without being boisterous. As they reached the bottom of the field that led up to the house, Ethan said, "I want a shower, food, clean sheets and you. Not necessarily in that order. In fact, I'd rather the 'you' was a constant throughout the rest."

"Good," Rupert replied, and Ethan could feel the rumble of his voice, pressed against his side as he was. "Because you've got me whether you want me or not."

Ethan hesitated before broaching the next subject, but then said it anyway. "I, um... Well, I always used to run away wherever possible when these kinds of situations arose in my dark and dirty days. I wasn't much cop in the fight. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise." Rupert turned his head to drop a kiss on Ethan's cheek as they walked. "You led me there, in one piece I might add, and you were a great asset to me in the actual fight. I never would have been able to hold the Slayers long enough for help to get to us without you. Not every contribution needs to be big and flashy to be essential."

It wasn't that Ethan didn't listen to Rupert's reassurance; he did, and it felt good, but he couldn't help replaying the battle in his head. "Mage to mage, I can hold my own, but against physical foes... Well, unless I can do what Ian did and find time and space to concentrate in, I'm not sure what use I can practically be." He should have obeyed his original instinct to call down a storm. Bugger it.

"I wasn't able to give you that space. I'm sorry. Demon got past my guard."

"Not your fault," Ethan mumbled. "Demon didn't interrupt anything useful anyway." Ugh, he sounded whiny. Ethan took a deep breath and attempted a less self-pitying tone. "I think if we find ourselves in that sort of situation again, the best solution would be for me to get to the sidelines where I can lurk and augment without being an obvious target. Support staff, that's me; wouldn't know what to do with that big shiny weapon of yours even if you let me handle it. Not the wisest course to put me in the heart of combat, really."

There, that was more reasonable... wasn't it?

Rupert was silent for a moment as they continued to trudge back to the house. "I never seem to do a very good job of protecting you, do I?" he finally murmured. "I'm sorry. I can understand why you wouldn't want to be put in that position again."

"What?" Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Rupert to stop also. "No. Abso-bloody-lutely not. I'd be dead and more than once were it not for you. You are not only the only person who's ever tried to protect me, you're also sodding good at it! This is about me being a useless git and wanting not to get in your way, not you being anything less than magnificent. Which, you may remember I told you, you were."

"You're not useless," Rupert replied fiercely. "Far from it. I don't want you ever thinking that you are." Ethan knew better than to say such things to Rupert; he really did.

"No, I don't think that. I'm exaggerating." He moved closer and nuzzled into Rupert's neck. "Sorry. It's just that my skills, significant and many though they might be, aren't much cop during combat." He thought about all Ian had achieved during the fight and added, "Or rather, I'm not, I guess. Oh, I don't know, Rupert. I'm tired, drunk, wet, and really not at all high on life and soul qualities currently. My insecurities are really the least of our worries; let's pay them no more heed, eh?"

Rupert's arms went around him again tightly. "You saved my life out there, or at the very least, a nasty goring, don't you remember? You knocked me out of the way of that demon before I even saw it; if you hadn't, it would've got a free shot at me and that may have been all it needed." He kissed Ethan again. "You're not useless."

Oh dear. "But... but I didn't. I mean, I would have done, had it been aiming at you. Really, I would have. But it was aiming at me, and I pulled you back inadvertently as I jumped away from it. Can we go in now?"

Rupert sighed, kissed him again, and nodded.

They made their way up the hill and over the gravel and cobblestones to the kitchen door. Ethan paused before they went into the light and warmth, really not wanting to face anyone. The dogs sat down obediently, uncomplaining at the delay.

"Come on, love," Rupert encouraged gently. "Let's get you up to our room and cleaned up. We'll have Mrs B. send up some food that I think we both could use."

"And you think you don't protect me," Ethan murmured gratefully as he let himself be steered inside.

"I try, at least," Rupert murmured back as they headed through the kitchen. He left Ethan very briefly to go speak with Mrs B., but was back very quickly. Leaving the dogs behind to be fed, they headed out into the corridor and up the stairs.

Ethan kept his head down, not wanting to risk meeting eyes if they bumped into anyone on the way, but they didn't. And as the door to their room shut behind them, he half-collapsed back upon it and looked up at Rupert, trying to communicate everything he was feeling with just his eyes.

Rupert pulled him close again, wrapping his arms about him tightly and just holding him for long moments.

It felt so good; it would feel even better skin to skin, but this was sheer bliss even clothed. "What happened to our nice life together?" Ethan asked rhetorically and more than a little petulantly. "Why's everything upped and gone to hell? I want our nice quiet life back. Even the office. I want the office back."

Rupert kissed Ethan's temple. "We'll get it all back. I promise."

His shoulder was burning abominably, but Ethan really didn't want to move from Rupert's arms. "You've been stressed out for days, dearheart. You've barely slept, hardly eaten; you look a little ravaged, truth to tell. And yet still... still you can be strong for me. Never think I don't appreciate this, Rupert. Never."

"Having you here helps tremendously. I don't think you can begin to know how much. Doing what needs to be done is what I was born and bred and trained to do. Knowing that I have you to lean on when I do it is..." Rupert shook his head wonderingly. "It makes all the difference."

Even that was exactly the right thing to say. Ethan stroked his fingers over Rupert's rough stubble in wonder. "You might just be all I need, you know. You're miracle panacea, golden goose and aqua vita all in one."

Rupert smiled, lowering his eyes in embarrassment. "I'm just me. A slightly worn, oft-beat up Watcher and mage who's spent his life dealing with things no one else wants to." He rested his forehead against Ethan's as he continued. "A man who loves you more than anything and who's feeling more at home in his own skin since you've come back into his life."

Ethan closed his eyes, soaking in as much of Rupert's presence as he could. He let his fingers comb gently into Rupert's hair, massaging his scalp. "Shower with me? I feel like I have half a tree in my hair and rather more mud than I like to consider on my skin."

"I'm not ready to let you out of my reach for a while yet," Rupert replied, pulling back and leading Ethan towards the bathroom. "And I want to take a look at your shoulder."

"It hurts," Ethan admitted, "but it isn't bad. Nothing that won't heal." He paused by the sink to look at himself in the mirror and winced at what he saw. "I'm suppose I should apologise for getting drunk with Ian again. He was very persistent, and I'm... " He sighed and left the 'weak' unspoken.

"No apologies necessary. Taking a break isn't a bad thing."

Ethan stared at his reflection. "I should have told you what I was doing."

Rupert came up behind him and slid his arms around Ethan's waist. "You don't have to clear your every move with me, love," he said, meeting Ethan's gaze in the mirror. "And given the circumstances, you wouldn't have been able to anyway." He lowered his head to nuzzle gently at Ethan's neck. "I'd much rather it was me who found that out the hard way than you."

Ethan couldn't stop a shiver as he thought of what it would have been like to suddenly discover Rupert gone from his mind. "I'm sorry you had to experience that."

"We've only been able to hear each other's thoughts for a few months." Rupert nuzzled him again. "It's amazing how quickly something like that becomes essential."

Closing his eyes, Ethan leant back slightly, wrapping his own arms over the top of Rupert's. Was there something more important than essential? If so, that's what Rupert and their link was to Ethan. "I did learn something useful today. I'm not sure how aware you were of it in the heat of things, but I linked us at a deep level during the fisticuffs, so that you could call on my awareness of things almost instinctively... among other things."

He hadn't actually detached them again yet, but that seemed to be happening naturally by itself.

"That would explain..." Rupert murmured mostly to himself. "I seemed to almost have eyes in the back of my head during the fight, as if I could see what the demon was going to do before he did it. I thought it was just the usual adrenaline-based sense sharpening, but it was... more."

"Yes." Ethan smiled at Rupert in the mirror. "It was exactly how I link our nodes during sex occasionally, but different nodes and at a deeper level. Thinking about it, it should have been very hard to do... but it wasn't. Not at all."

"We're meant to fight together. Even if I'm the one swinging the sword, it's still both of us fighting."

Ethan considered that. "I suppose I should stop thinking about me and what I'm achieving, and think about us and what we're managing to do together. Ironic that, really."

"A whole stronger than its parts," Rupert murmured. "We're a bloody force to be reckoned with."

Snorting softly, Ethan smiled. "We are. Truly. If a rather dirty force currently."

"Indeed. Shower?"

"Yes, shower. Nice and hot, please."

"Do you need help getting undressed?"

Ethan chuckled and turned around in Rupert's arms. "I believe I may be quite helpless in this matter."

Rupert smiled at him even as he said, "I'm serious. What with your injury..."

"Yes, it's quite grievous. You may have to cut me out." Ethan pretended to swoon against Rupert.

"I'm in love with a drama queen," Rupert mourned rather dramatically himself.

Ethan giggled against Rupert's shoulder. "He loves me. Now my life is complete. Take me, Rupert, never mind the pain. Take me now!"

Rupert shook his head sadly. "Delirious from blood loss."

He did feel a little delirious, it was true, but that didn't seem such a bad thing currently. Ethan pulled back from Rupert and began to undo his coat, announcing a clear "Ow!" with every button until Rupert got the hint.

Taking over, Rupert undid Ethan's coat and then gently eased it from Ethan's shoulders, obviously doing his best not to jar the wounded one.

It did hurt. Really, quite a lot. But Ethan was enjoying regressing to helpless five year old rather too much to complain, and anyway, it would undoubtedly have hurt a lot more if he'd tried to take it off on his own. He took the coat from Rupert's hand and looked mournfully at the wrecked shoulder. That was his Barbour gone then. He sighed.

"We'll get you another one," Rupert said, seeming to read Ethan's thoughts. Or at least his body language. "Coats can be replaced, you can't."

Ethan nodded and lightly chucked the coat over to the corner of the bathroom, which hurt his shoulder again. He winced. "Not sure I was kidding about the cutting my clothes off me. Getting this jumper off may be tricky."

"I've an easier way," Rupert said, touching Ethan's clothes and murmuring, "texurum divid," causing Ethan's clothes to fall from him in rags.

Well, apart from the fragment of shirt that seemed stuck to his shoulder. "Ow," he said mournfully, knowing he was milking it, but it was easier to get sympathetic attention for his shoulder than for the other things that were bothering him.

Rupert wet down a flannel and dabbed at Ethan's shoulder, trying to pry the fabric from the wound with as little discomfort as possible. That still meant quite a lot of discomfort, but Ethan knew it could have been far worse. Just the fact that it was Rupert touching him helped in a way nothing else would have.

He felt the fabric peel away, and Rupert had done his work so well, there was little extra pain. "How does it look?" he asked, half-turning.

"I've seen worse," Rupert said, but he was pressing his lips together into a thin line, an expression he always wore when he was upset about something.

"What's wrong? I know it's not that bad; my pattern senses tell me."

"I don't like seeing you hurt," was the softly spoken answer.

It was just so very nice to be cared about, for the things that happened to him to matter to someone, and not just any someone but Rupert. "I'm fine, my dear. Better than fine now. You saved me from the big bad demon, and now you're making me feel deliciously warm and cared for."

Rupert stole a quick kiss. "You'd do the same for me."

"I'd certainly try." Ethan began to undress Rupert, but his shoulder really was feeling sore now, an ache spreading out down his arm and into the muscles of his neck. He could, of course, block the pain quite easily by twisting, but some instinct told him it was unwise to do such things when it wasn't vital.

Rupert grabbed his hands and stepped back out of Ethan's immediate reach. "Let me do that. I don't want you aggravating things."

So Ethan reluctantly just watched at Rupert efficiently stripped, and then waited for him to make the water hot before stepping after him into the shower. When the powerful jet hit his shoulder, he yelped.

Rupert immediately moved his body to shield Ethan's shoulder from the water. "Sorry. I should've–"

"No. Dearheart, it's okay. The water needs to get to it. I'm being a little bit of a wimp." Ethan moved close to Rupert again, wrapping his arms around him. "Hold me some more?"

' _Easiest thing to do in the world,_ ' Rupert sent, switching to talking mind to mind, and he hugged Ethan close.

Ethan deliberate manoeuvred until he was back under the spray again, letting the hot water torrent over his head and down his back as he pressed his face into Rupert's neck. He tightened his arms as his shoulder protested, but then relaxed slowly as the water seemed to soak so much that felt wrong with him away. ' _You make everything good._ '

Rupert sighed. ' _Would that that were true._ ' He began running his hands lightly over Ethan's back.

"It is true!" Ethan protested aloud. Rupert just smiled a bit sadly at him and leant in for another kiss. _'You make everything good for me, at the very least,_ ' Ethan insisted, even as he felt himself seem to melt under the combined comforts of hot water and Rupert's lips.

 _'I do my best,_ ' was Rupert's slightly wistful reply.

Ethan really didn't like the insecurity in Rupert's tone, but he supposed it was to do with Rupert's failure so far to find a solution for their Dawn problem, and Ethan really didn't want to discuss that. Not tonight. Not now. Now was about warmth and comfort and each other and not appalling responsibilities they couldn't escape. He took a deep breath and sighed it out before allowing his magic to radiate out gently from his hands and into Rupert's body, trying to soothe him without words.

Rupert made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh of contentment, and Ethan could feel some of the tension in Rupert's muscles start to ease. ' _I love you,_ ' Rupert sent, his tone heartfelt, starting the kiss again.

' _At this moment, pretty much all I am is a great mushy puddle of love for you_ ,' Ethan sent back with a small chuckle. ' _You really have no idea just how wonderful you are for me, have you?_ '

' _I do my best_ ,' Rupert repeated, this time more assured.

That was better. Smiling into the gentle kiss, Ethan let his hands move lazily over Rupert's water-slicked back and arse. ' _Mmm, you feel good, dearheart._ '

' _So do you._ ' Rupert nuzzled Ethan's throat. ' _Do you have any idea how much of a difference having you here with me has made?_ '

' _Things are only right when we're together, which is obvious really. I find it so hard to believe I did without you for so long. The more I have of you, the more I want. Is this the bond or is it just us, Rupert? >' He reached for the shower gel from the shelf; it was his favourite one for evening showers currently, scented with tropical fruits and coconut. It was like bathing in a summer cocktail._

' _Both, I think,_ ' Rupert replied, taking the gel from Ethan's hands. ' _We fit together in ways that are as much about who we are as what we are. The bond just lets us realise how deeply and completely that is true._ ' Rupert's conviction that there was more to their relationship than a strong mystical bond was always very reassuring.

Ethan pulled back enough to let Rupert wash him, smiling as he relished the touch of slippery hands upon his body. ' _So very good. Ah, I'm unwilling to even say this and spoil this moment, but do you want to talk about the attack? We probably should._ ' Wherever he'd purchased a conscience from without realising it, Ethan hoped they'd accept returns.

' _Not just yet,_ ' Rupert beseeched. ' _We need to get cleaned up, get your wound tended to and eat something before Mrs. B comes after us with a cast iron frying pan. After. After will be soon enough._ '

Ethan's unwanted conscience was apparently not yet so well developed that he was going to argue with that. ' _You forgot the shagging, dear, but other than that, it seems a fine plan... Oh, and might want to stick an elastoplast on my shoulder before then._ '

' _That would fall under getting your wound tended to,_ ' Rupert replied. ' _Ah, the elastoplast, not the shagging._ '

' _Yes, I merely meant we should do the tending before the shagging. In case there may be a certain amount of friction... talking of which, are you intending to shave?_ '

' _I hadn't really thought about it,_ ' Rupert replied as he continued to wash Ethan.

Ethan gave Rupert a cheeky grin. ' _May I persuade you? While I believe there is some anti-ageing benefit in removing the top layers of my skin, I'd rather not if it's all the same._ '

Rupert smiled slightly. ' _What if I said I wasn't sure we should shag, what with you being injured and all?_ ' he asked.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Ethan exclaimed aloud.

Rupert chuckled. "Entirely the opposite, love, I assure you. I suppose if we could shag when my leg was messed up, we should be able to work something out with your shoulder..."

"It's a mere scratch! Forget the bloody elastoplast." Ethan pressed his soapy body against Rupert's and wriggled intently.

"It's a bit more serious than a 'mere scratch'," Rupert argued. He didn't pull away, however.

"Put it from your mind, dearheart. I insist." He nibbled up the side of Rupert's neck then took his earlobe between his teeth.

"You wouldn't insist if I'd been the one who'd been injured." Rupert's voice was becoming just a bit distracted.

"That would be different." Behind Rupert, Ethan took the shower gel back from the hook and filled his hand with plenty. "Time to get you clean, my dear. Parts of you are looking quite dirty."

"How would it be different?" Rupert asked.

"It would be different because you're not very good at looking after your own needs, whereas I excel at protecting my own skin." With hands full of shower gel, Ethan slicked down Rupert's belly, and without hesitation, slid over and cupped his cock and balls.

"So, you don't want me to take care of you when you get hurt?" Rupert asked with amusement, even as his body reacted to Ethan's touch.

"You're teasing me," Ethan pointed out. "Now be good, or I'll start my own kind of teasing." As an example, he let his slippery stroking hands emit a strong dose of magic.

Rupert's eyes closed in pleasure. "And this is supposed to be a deterrent?"

Was it their ever-growing bond, the links he'd imbued between them earlier, or just his own inclinations that made Ethan feel Rupert's arousal as his own? He groaned quietly and leant his face towards Rupert for a kiss, who complied, lingering with their lips brushing together.

' _Rupert,_ ' Ethan sent, his hands moving, squeezing and sliding. ' _I'm hungry, tired and I hurt, but more urgent than all that, I need you._ '

' _I'm here,_ ' Rupert replied, but he didn't do anything more than just wrap his arms tighter around Ethan. ' _Always_.'

Ethan pulled back a little, frowning. "Not in the mood? You feel in the mood." He glanced down pointedly at his hands.

"I'm always going to react to your touch. I could be half-dead and I'd still react. But–"

Ethan's hands dropped to his sides. "But you don't want it, want me, right now."

"I always want you," Rupert argued, sliding his own hands down to take hold of Ethan's. "I want you here, with me, touching, talking, just being. I just don't want to fuck right now."

Ethan pursed his lips and said nothing, staring over Rupert's left shoulder. It was stupid to feel hurt. Of course Rupert was tired and stressed.

"Or we could forget touching and talking and just go with silent staring," Rupert said dryly. He moved his head so that his face was in Ethan's line of vision again. "Not my first choice, but as long as I'm with you..."

Ethan closed his eyes and tipped his head down. "Sorry," he mumbled and wrapped his arms back around Rupert. "I just wanted to feel... better."

"And I can't make you feel better without sex?" Rupert asked gently.

"Sex is the easy route." This really wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having. "Let me wash my hair, and we can get out of here."

Rupert grabbed the shampoo before Ethan could. "I'll do that," he said quietly, switching to mind speech to add, 'Let me pamper you a bit. Take care of you.'

' _Sex would be pampering._ ' It was a last ditch attempt, however, and Ethan could feel himself giving in. Rupert was not, after all, the only tired one, and his shoulder really was aching.

' _Sex would be sex,_ ' Rupert replied. ' _It would be too... desperate right now. Besides, don't you like this?_ '

As Rupert massaged the lather into Ethan's scalp, Ethan kept his eyes closed and was surprised to find just how close he was to dropping off. While standing up in the shower, not a good sign. ' _Yes, it's very soothing,_ ' he acknowledged a little drowsily. Well, he could hardly deny it, could he? ' _It's just..._ '

'You don't think I want you unless I'm willing to fuck you?'

Ethan cringed. ' _It's not the willingness; it's the wanting to, the...needing me._ '

"I do need you," Rupert said, speaking aloud. He turned Ethan around to face him. "I don't think I can begin to describe how much. Sex is a very, very small part of that. If we never had sex again, I'd still need you more than I've ever needed anything or anybody else."

"I know. I do know. I..." Ethan just didn't have the words for this, and that was partly why sex was so important to him, he realised. It allowed him to say so many of things that were far too difficult to verbalise. Things such as 'I need you in order to live, to carry on breathing', or 'I want to give you something; I want to give you me', or even 'I need to know you trust me, need me, love me, desire me... please show me'. He whimpered softly. "We are, um, still going to have sex again, aren't we? You didn't mean...?"

Rupert chuckled. "Yes, we're still going to have sex. Just not right now."

"All right," he said meekly and bowed his head under the spray for his hair to be rinsed. ' _Pampering is nice too._ '

Rupert rinsed out the shampoo from Ethan's hair and then turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a large towel and holding it open for Ethan to step into. Letting himself be enveloped within the warm cotton, Ethan managed to think up another objection. "Sex is a two-way thing... well, normally. And much though I'd hate to disprove my reputation for being a selfish brat, I'd like to be looking after you too."

"You are," Rupert assured him. "You do."

Hmm. Ethan supposed it was just about within the bounds of possibility that looking after him was sometimes as comforting for Rupert as being looked after was for Ethan. He kissed Rupert softly and murmured, "Thank you."

A quick spray of antiperspirant under his arms later, and Ethan was walking out of the bathroom to look for some clothes. Perhaps it was some subconscious instinct that had made him wrap a towel around his waist, or perhaps just habit. Either way, he was glad of it, as waiting for them in one of the armchairs was Kat.

Probably a good thing they hadn't started shagging in the shower then.

Kat pointed at the other armchair. "Sit," she said. "Let me take a look at your shoulder."

"Hello Kat," he said loud enough to warn Rupert they had company. Skunk trotted over to say hello, and he bent to ruffle her ears. "You won't mind, I assume, if I put some trousers on first?" His eye fell on the coffee table between the two chairs. "Oh, is that the promised ambrosia?"

"That's the tray Mrs. B asked me to bring up for you and Giles, yeah. You can eat when I'm fixing your shoulder."

"Look away like a well brought up girl, and while I put these on, you can tell me what's happening with our captive," Ethan told her as he liberated trousers from the wardrobe and pants from the drawer.

"We've got her locked in one of the spare bedrooms. Heavily sedated for now. We considered using chains, but Xander didn't think that actually was going to be a good first step in winning her trust," Kat said, averting her eyes as asked.

"And forced drugging is?" Ethan shook his head. He knew which he would prefer. Kat just shrugged. He pulled on his clothes and walked over to her. "My cut just needs something over it to stop it bleeding,"

"I'll take a look at your shoulder and then decide what it needs. Which of us has healer training, after all?"

"I have pattern sight," he pointed out, but he knew perfectly well that he was arguing because he didn't want Kat to stay long, which wasn't a very hospitable way to feel, but he was uncomfortable around all of them currently.

Both Kat and Megan had gone out of their way to tell him in the past that he wasn't the evil man that Rupert's Sunnydale children had thought him. What would the girls think now, if they knew what he was doing with his days? He'd appreciated their loyalty so much, born as it was from the fact that he did care and had stood by them. Would they now believe he would sacrifice either of them if it proved necessary?

He sat down as he had been bid. "Good boy," Kat teased him, patting his uninjured shoulder before starting to tend to the injured one. "This needs stitches really, but I don't have the silk for that."

She seemed to be doing a good deal more than just putting something over the wound to stop it bleeding, but her touch was deft and gentle enough that he barely felt it, although he caught various herbal scents and felt changes in temperature. Afterwards, whatever she had done also seemed to be easing the ache that he had resigned himself to having to deal with.

"Thank you," he said. "You haven't lost your touch. Am I allowed to eat yet?"

"Go. Eat. Mangia, mangia. It'll help you recover." Kat grinned at him and patted his good shoulder again. "Now as soon as Giles decides to stop hiding in the bathroom, I can check him out and get out of your way."

"He's shaving," Ethan asserted, more in hope than actual knowledge. ' _Coming out, dear?_ ' he sent to Rupert.

Rupert appeared in the bathroom doorway then, wearing his robe and freshly shaven. He looked better than he had, but still the strain and exhaustion was visible around his eyes. "I'm fine, Kat," he assured. "A few scrapes and bruises maybe, but nothing more serious than that."

Kat stared at him hard, arms crossed over her chest. "I wouldn't go so far as to say fine, but I'll take your word that you weren't injured in the fight. Mostly because I know Ethan would rat you out if you had been."

Ethan chuckled and lifted a bowl of stew and dumplings from the tray, wanting to eat it before it got too cold. To his delight, Mrs B. had put the bowls on heating rings, so the stew was still hot and palatable. "Oh, this is good, Rupert. Come and eat. Kat has patched me up as good as new. You might want to talk to her about the arrangements for our new guest however. Sedation doesn't seem enough to overcome Slayer self-preservation to me."

"It'll do for tonight," Rupert said, crossing the room and taking the other chair beside the table. "We're using a special Council formulation designed for Slayers. In the morning, we can talk to her, see if we can't undo Francesca's brainwashing." He glanced at Ethan. "I'll want you to check her for any Dark Chaos contamination as well."

"Already done to a point," Ethan said between mouthfuls. He still didn't think any sedative was enough to keep a Slayer down for long, but he wasn't the Head Watcher for good reason. "She's free of anything current. There's residue, however, as if spells have been done upon her in the past."

Rupert grimaced. "I feared as much. In which case, once we get her to see us as something other than the enemy, it might be a good idea to send her down to Devon for a while to recover."

Ethan nodded. "I concur quite thoroughly. We can't keep her here; there may be programming that could kick in at just the wrong time."

"If there is anything like that, Mary and Jonah should be able to deprogram her again," Kat offered.

Ethan knew he should volunteer to help, or Ian should, but neither of them could afford the time currently. He wiped around the inside of his bowl with the crusty bread provided. "If you don't eat up, Rupert, I'll spoon-feed you in front of Kat."

Which at least caused Kat to giggle if nothing else. "As interesting as that sounds, I think I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Megan and I are going to do an extra patrol before bed tonight, just in case."

Ethan looked up, properly meeting her eyes for the first time. "Is... is everyone all right, Kat?"

"Yeah," she replied, smiling at him. "That," and she nodded towards his shoulder, "is the worst that the good guys suffered. Pretty decisive repelling of the enemy if I do say so myself."

"Yay to us." Ethan tried to make his tone less sarcastic than the words sounded in his mind.

Kat shrugged. "Hey, take our victories where we can," she said with a grin. "We're standing; they're not. That's good enough for me."

"Thanks for coming up, sweetheart." Ethan smiled at her, trying to make what was obviously a 'bugger off now' as nice as humanly possible.

"I can take a hint," she replied good-naturedly. "I'm going already." She headed for the door, tossing a grin and a little wave over her shoulder as she left.

Ethan closed his eyes and sunk low in the chair, leaning his head back into the cushions. "None of them will ever forgive me."

Rupert reached over and took his hand. "They're Slayers. If... They'll understand."

Ethan snorted. "Buffy's a Slayer. I made a deal with her, you know. A deal I'm currently breaking in so many different ways."

Rupert was silent for a few moments before offering softly, "I'd only known Buffy for a few months the first time I had to send her out to prophesied death. I didn't want to. I was looking for another way, a loophole. She overheard me talking about it." He smiled slightly. "To say she didn't take it well might be a bit of an understatement. Yelled and screamed and threw books at me." The smile faded. "She said she didn't want to die. I don't think she ever sounded so young to me. Part of me was so relieved when she said she quit, that she wasn't going to go."

That made Ethan look up sharply. "And if Dawn says no?"

"I was going to go in Buffy's place," Rupert said as if not hearing the question. "But she changed her mind. Came back and told me, and knocked me out to keep me from stopping her. When it came down to it, she couldn't let everyone else suffer because she was afraid. I think that's the moment when I figured out what truly makes a Slayer." He glanced up at Ethan then away again. "Dawn is from the same mould. She won't say no."

Rupert still hadn't eaten a sodding mouthful. As Ethan had nothing helpful he could say about what Rupert had just said, it was too painful and too current, he stood and lifted the uneaten bowl of stew from the tray. Sitting on the arm of Rupert's chair, he filled a spoon and lifted it towards Rupert's mouth. "Come on, dearheart. Mrs B. will be very cross with me if you don't eat."

Rupert gave him a faint smile then opened his mouth. "And you think you don't look after me."

"I never said that," Ethan argued as he lifted another spoonful. "I said we couldn't both pamper each other simultaneously."

"Can't we?" Rupert pulled back enough to pick up Ethan's spoon from the empty bowl and dip it into the stew. "Seems to me that there are ways," he finished, bringing it up to Ethan's mouth.

Ethan smiled, but pulled his head back. "No, dearheart. I've had mine, and you need to eat this. You've pampered me plenty already."

Rupert gave a half shrug and ate the spoonful himself. "Doesn't mean I want to stop."

Snorting softly, Ethan ran his hand over Rupert's damp hair, flattening it down a little. "You can start again after you've eaten. Are you going to feed yourself then? Because if you are, I'll busy myself with important kissing and stroking duties. Not to mention vital stuffing my face with pudding responsibilities."

"I'm quite capable of feeding myself," Rupert responded with dignity. "You just get impatient."

"I just know you. Far too well." This was nice though, sitting beside Rupert and engaging in mock bickering as if everything was normal and everyday. Ethan kissed him softly on the temple, and Rupert slid a hand over Ethan's thigh, patting it fondly as he pointedly took another mouthful of the stew.

Ethan reached for one of the bowls of apple pie and cream and began to tuck in. "If you grew up with food this good, how did you ever adjust to California?"

"I hadn't been eating here for quite some time before I went to California," Rupert reminded him, adding almost as an afterthought, "And I don't think I'm that bad a cook."

"Better than me, anyway," Ethan agreed with a laugh. "I don't think Mrs B. has heard of cholesterol and the evils of saturated fat... which probably explains why this all tastes so sinfully good."

"Generally, given our line of work, the evils of saturated fat are the least of our worries."

"True," Ethan agreed more glumly, his thoughts inevitably taken back to their current situation. Ah, bugger it. Not tonight. He pressed his lips against Rupert's jaw in a quick kiss before finishing his pie. "I love it when you've just shaved."

"No longer fond of the stubble look?" Rupert asked with amusement.

"Oh, that has something going for it too, especially when combined with your leather jacket, but my lips in particular prefer you freshly shaved, your skin silky and sweet smelling, and nothing there that's going to remove the top layer of mine."

Rupert grinned. "Perhaps I just like leaving my mark on you."

Ethan chuckled a little darkly. "Remember when I used to beg you to hurt me enough to leave scars? I was such a prat. Really, I was." His fingers moved over the invisible brand on his arm. "You wisely knew the time wasn't right to mark me then."

"It scared me sometimes," Rupert admitted, brushing a finger over the brand himself. "Your need to be hurt, the way it felt to do so... We walked a fine line back then. Compared to what we have now, we were so far apart even when we were together."

"It's hard to remember now in some ways." Ethan tried to imagine being that boy again, wild and fucked up, full of self-destruction and excess. "I suppose I wanted you to hurt me so that you'd break through all the masks and poses , all those deceptions I'd put up to protect myself from the world. I didn't want to keep you out, but I... I didn't know how to let you in."

Rupert brushed a light touch over Ethan's cheek. "And I could never hurt you enough to destroy the masks completely. I'd get... glimpses inside, flashes of what even then I somehow knew was something that could change me completely. But there was never more than that. Not then."

Rupert had finished his stew so Ethan took the bowl from him and put it on the tray together with his own. He lifted the second dessert bowl and spoon and then slipped down into Rupert's lap, holding them ready to feed Rupert if necessary. "Do you think we would ever have got where we are now without the things that happened to us while we were apart?" It was the same question he'd already asked a great many times, he knew, with slightly different wording. But still, he wanted to hear the answer again.

"I think so," Rupert replied after a thoughtful silence. "It took us longer than maybe it should have, but we finally grew up. Grew together." Rupert leant in and kissed him lightly.

Growing together was exactly what they were doing. With his sight, Ethan could see it so clearly. He didn't mention these things to Rupert; not after Rupert had been so uptight about what had happened the time they had used Harriet's enchanted makeup together, but there was a symbiosis between them that meant, as Lucy had predicted months ago, that neither one of them could now survive without the other.

"I have no regrets, my Ripper," he said softly. "Not a one."


	7. Chapter 7

Ethan groaned.

He didn't want to get up. It couldn't be morning yet. The sun shining through the curtains was a rude and presumptive guest, unwanted and most definitely a liar. Since morning, as far as Ethan was concerned, had not broken.

"Get back into bed," he grumbled at Rupert, who he could hear moving quietly about the room.

That brought Rupert over to kiss him lightly, but not to actually come back to bed. "Go back to sleep, love," he encouraged.

"You know what happens if I sleep without you." Especially when Ethan was feeling stressed.

Christ, he didn't want to get up. He didn't want to go down to that dark ghetto of a room and work on his one-person murder plot. He groaned again, which brought Skunk to his side of the bed, whimpering quietly in concern. He reached his hand out to stroke her head reassuringly, and his third groan had a different timbre. "My shoulder hurts."

"Kat sent up something that should help with that." Rupert moved away again, back a few seconds later, handing Ethan a small bottle.

He peered at it, blinked a few times and then peered again. "A tincture. Yummy. This research is wrecking my eyes, dearheart. All these years, I've avoided glasses..."

"I'm afraid a little eye strain is one of the hazards of the job." Rupert settled on the edge of the bed beside him and studied Ethan's face thoughtfully. "Although a pair of wire-rims might look quite fetching on you."

"Hmph." Ethan gave Rupert a sour look and sat up, his expression softening as he took in the legacy of the recent days' strain on Rupert's face. Stroking a finger over Rupert's cheekbone, Ethan said, "Are you going to remember to take breaks today?"

"Truthfully? Probably not," Rupert admitted wryly. "But I don't know when I'll get to the research today to begin with. There's our to-be-repatriated Slayer to deal with first."

"Oh. I forgot her. Bugger." Much though he didn't want to go to his little room, he wanted to mix with the others even less.

"Xander and our Slayers are going to help me deal with her. You don't need to be there."

Ethan hoped his relief didn't show too strongly on his face. "Keep in touch during the day? I think we should, in case they try that telepathy-dampening spell again."

"A reasonable precaution."

Ethan kissed him softly, holding on for a little longer than he probably should have, but then sighed and sat back against the headboard. "I'll go down and get on with my own work then. Joy of joys."

Rupert reached out and caressed his cheek. "Take it easy on yourself today," he advised. "You're injured; no one will blame you if you let up for a bit and rest."

Ethan snorted. "Look where resting got me yesterday. I'm done really, anyway. All I'm researching now are ways to locate unique and irreplaceable mystical batteries." He got out of bed and started to stretch, but immediately regretted it. "Will you take the dogs down to the kitchen as you're heading that way?"

"Of course. You know, though, that Skunk will be seeking you out as soon as she's had her run and breakfast. She's very much your dog, won't stay with anybody else if you're in the vicinity."

"Yes, and I'll be glad to see her. She stops me going quite mad in that horrid little room." Ethan wandered disconsolately off towards the bathroom.

"You could always take your books and research somewhere else," Rupert said, raising his voice a little as Ethan reached the bathroom. "Bring them up to the nursery perhaps?"

That stopped Ethan, and he looked around to study Rupert carefully. "Are you sure you'd be all right with that?" Rupert had shown obvious signs of not wanting to be anywhere near the research Ethan was working on.

Rupert nodded. "I'm sure. I've missed having you around. Plus..." He glanced down for a second before meeting Ethan's gaze squarely, "I don't like the idea of you feeling as if you've been banished to the dungeon or some such rot just because... Well, I want you with me."

"Thank you," Ethan told him, simple and sincere. "I promise I won't try to look after you an excessive amount. I'll fetch my stuff and carry it up there then." As he prepared to push open the door of the bathroom, he sent, ' _We should still talk like this occasionally, though, just to make sure._ '

' _Of course._ ' Rupert crossed over to him and kissed him, resting his forehead against Ethan's for a brief moment before pulling back. ' _Hopefully this business with the Slayer won't take me too long; I'll keep you posted._ '

Ethan nodded. ' _I know she's only a teenage girl, alone and afraid, but she's also a superhumanly strong teenage girl who currently hates us. Don't take chances, eh?_ '

Rupert smiled. ' _That's why Kat and Megan are going to be there._ '

' _Good._ ' Ethan headed into the bathroom to empty his bladder and wash his face, feeling slightly more positive about the day. He didn't shower; he was too keen to get his stuff upstairs, and anyway, he didn't want to get his bandage wet, but he did quickly do his teeth as his mouth, after Ian's rotgut yesterday, tasted quite foul. After dressing quickly, he left the room and made his way to the left wing and his basement room; he'd be heartily glad to see the back of it. Being with Rupert would make everything more bearable.

He knew there was a problem as soon as he saw the door was simply pushed to, but not shut. He felt inside with his pattern senses, but he already knew whom he'd find in there.

Ethan slammed his hand flat down on the door's face so it swung open abruptly, and he scowled at Ian. "There is such a thing as respecting privacy. Perhaps you need to look it up. There's a computer upstairs. Try the internet."

Ian was sitting in Ethan's chair with his feet up on the desk, flipping through Ethan's notes. He looked up at Ethan, completely at his ease. "I thought you could use some help and decided to offer my services."

Ethan could feel his mouth making fish 'O's, so he shut it. The man was unbelievable! He strode over to his desk and yanked his notes from Ian's hands, whacking the crossed feet off his desk while he was at it. "No. Just no. You don't recognise any bloody barriers, do you? Not even with friends?"

"That's a rather strange question coming from you, don't you think?" Ian's manner remained calm and easy, and he even gave Ethan the ghost of a smile.

Ethan knew exactly what Ian meant, of course, but this was different. It was. "I– I told you Rupert didn't want... Ian, I thought..." He'd thought he could trust him. "How much have you read?" He asked the question sullenly, backing off a little way and looking through his own notes to see what Ian might have seen.

"Not much that I was able to decipher. You, m'boy, have some of the worst penmanship I've ever seen." Ian smiled at him. "Almost bad enough to be a doctor."

The man seemed determined to act as if he'd done nothing wrong. "Please get out of my chair," Ethan said stiffly. "You know I would tell you if I could so the fact that I haven't should inform you that quite obviously I don't want you going through my things." Then he wilted, could feel it happening; he didn't want to be angry with Ian. "I'm sorry I can't tell you. Truly."

Ian relinquished the chair willingly enough, but didn't seem ready to back down more than that. "I think," he began, holding Ethan's gaze, his own eyes full of compassion, "that you need to take a look at what you're doing and decide if it's working. Doesn't seem to me that it is. You're too smart to not realise that means you need to try something new. Like asking for help."

Ethan wanted to; he really wanted to. The memory of Rupert's haunted eyes, which seemed to get more shadowed with every passing day, was heavy in his mind. The possibility that Ian could provide something to ease Rupert's pain, even a little, was tantalising.

He averted his eyes. "It's not me that needs the help. Not really. I'm done here bar achieving the impossible."

"You'll forgive me for saying so, but that's not what it looks like. There's needing help for more than the practical as well."

Ethan sat down and put his notes back on the table. He stared at them, feeling a sense of hopelessness. "You could," he said slowly, "help me work on a way to summon, or at the very least locate, an object I have no focus for... not even a detailed description."

"I could," Ian agreed, sitting on the edge of the table. He gave Ethan an encouraging smile. "Remember your lessons, my boy. Nothing is impossible. You just need to look at the patterns the right way."

Ethan gave him a weak smile in return. "It's the Bachian Matrix crystal."

"Ah, which would explain you asking me about it yesterday."

"Quite. Have you heard of it? I hadn't, but McDonally's refers to it, and from there I was able to trace a little of its origins and properties."

Ian shook his head. "It's new to me. Show me what you've been able to track down so far, and we'll see what we can piece together in the way of some kind of locator spell."

Ah, and here was where it got tricky because Ian was far too intelligent not to put everything together once he knew the crystal's function. "It's a battery," Ethan hedged. "Sort of. It was created by a sect of Pilantine demons in Argentina about two centuries ago, using material obtained from another dimension and compressed in the heart of Ojos del Saldo, a volcano, during a suicide ritual."

"Never understood the whole suicide ritual fetish," Ian said, shaking his head. "Especially not when it's just to make a pretty bauble."

"They were part of a cult, as I said. It seems to have been a great honour to have been included in the number who offed themselves. The crystal was a sacred object of significant veneration to the cult, until the whole lot of the bastards seemed to vanish from the world in 1947 or thereabouts. If they've taken the crystal dimension hopping with them somewhere, we're buggered."

"If they have, it may have left a rather large disturbance in the patterns. Items of Power often do in their passing."

Ethan nodded. "There's no suitable disturbance that I can discover recorded at that time, so I have hope. A little of it, anyway."

"That's something then," Ian said encouragingly. "Gives us a place to start."

"Starting hasn't ever been a problem," Ethan said sourly. "Getting anywhere, on the other hand..." He dug out his notes on locating and summoning spells; they should be innocent enough. "It doesn't help that all the technical books insist on formal rote and ritual, and our magic... well, you know. I've tried improvising, going into deep trances and searching, but without knowing the crystal's pattern, I don't know where to start."

It felt so very good to be finally talking to someone about even a little of this. He couldn't discuss it with Rupert, not even now he'd been invited back up into the light, because the subject hurt Rupert too much.

"This might be one of those times where there's no replacement for experience," Ian said as he looked over the notes that Ethan showed him. "Certain types of things have similar patterns. Sometimes, if you know the rough shape, history, and function of an item, you can guesstimate its pattern."

"I'm in your hands then." Ethan attempted a rakish smile.

"This is where you get to show off all of your progress through research," Ian teased. "Tell me everything there is to know about the Bachian Matrix."

"It's a battery. Well, maybe more like a hard drive, but one of infinite capacity; that's what the Pilantine claimed. Something about the mathematical arrangement of the molecular structure permits an extension into para-dimensional space, and therefore, an unlimited amount of... data can be stored." Ethan looked at the table. He was getting far too close to dangerous subjects. Rupert was expecting him upstairs, although he was probably still with the captured Slayer himself so Ethan had a little time to waste with Ian, but... Christ, he didn't have the kind of brain that could make this type of decision.

On the one hand, he'd promised Rupert that he wouldn't reveal the truth about the extended prophecy regarding Dawn. On the other, Ian could have the exact knowledge needed to save Dawn and therefore save Rupert from this burden. In which case, why was he wasting time trying to get help in finding mystical crystal matrixes, when he should be asking about what really mattered?

"Ian...?" he began miserably. "Do you really want to help?"

Ian's expression grew grave. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Ethan felt his eyes unfocus as guilt burnt within him, but nonetheless said, "Then help us find a way not to kill Dawn."

Ian stared at him for a long moment. "I think you better start at the beginning."

Ethan looked up at him. "You know some of it; I know you do – what you said to me when you arrived in London with her."

"I know that Dawn's mixed up in this somehow and is most likely going to be, if you pardon the pun, the key to finding a solution." Ian frowned. "But I wasn't anticipating that involving killing her."

Ethan brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes and rubbing. "We need the Key as the Key, and that's death to the girl."

"Ah. Yes, I can see the problem now." Ian fell silent then, but Ethan could sense him turning it over in his mind.

Talking to Ian about this allowed Ethan to feel quite how desperate things truly were. He let his hand fall onto Ian's leg. "Help us? Rupert is... Well, you've seen him; you know how much he's not looking after himself. He's spending every waking moment trying to find a way to avoid using her this way, knowing that for every day he fails to find it, England heaves and writhes in the grip of Chaos." He looked down again and added in a low voice, "Whereas I am working on the murder plan."

Ian covered Ethan's hand with his own, the touch comforting even if the words weren't precisely. "There's no way of accessing the Key's abilities without the change, I take it?"

"Harriet found a prophecy in the Vatican. We've checked every aspect of it. Rupert and I are..." Ethan sighed, wanting to laugh at what he was about to reveal, but not quite being able to. "We're the 'Archguardians of the Third Millennium', which sounds like something from a comic book, I know. Our duty seems to be to maintain the balance between Order and Chaos, and the Key... the Key is our tool. It's the control, the dial that we get to turn to adjust the balance."

"And the turning can only be done with the Key in her original form." It was more statement than question.

"Yes."

Ian grimaced. "Granted, I doubt it was ever expected the Key would be given a human life..."

Ethan nodded. "Harriet's prophecy knew that the Key had been hidden, but not how. The monks who made her were wiped out by Glory's minions. Everyone at the time assumed your, er, that is, the 'Doc' demon to be one of her followers..." He squeezed Ian's leg sympathetically at the mention. "But I think it more likely he realised what Dawn was after she'd visited him, and he attempted to open dimensions with her to help his master, Vaurtain." Ethan shrugged. "It's a theory, anyway."

"I've no doubt you've hit on the truth of that, and for more than one reason." Ian sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Right. So thanks to the Powers' lack of foresight, we are faced with a rather horrific necessity." He paused. "Has anyone spoken to Dawn about this?"

"No." Ethan squeezed Ian's leg harder. "It's very important to Rupert that she doesn't know until we're sure there's no other choice... " He took a deep breath. "And soon now, I'm going to have to force him to admit defeat. I'm going to have to take my poor husband and sit him in front of the news channel until he makes one of the worst decisions of his life."

Ian shook his head. "That shouldn't be something laid on the two of you."

"But it has been." Ethan shrugged. "And that's that, really. So, can you help us?"

"I'm not sure, but," Ian held his gaze steadily, "I will do everything it is within my power to do. I promise."

Ethan took a shaky breath, the relief he felt easily enough to outweigh the guilt. He'd tell Rupert, of course. He wouldn't try to hide. He'd made the promise not to keep secrets from Rupert and intended to keep it, but Ian could be the thing that tipped the balance their way. The enemy was expecting a bonded pair of mages; Ian was, in more than one sense, the wild card. "Thank you."

Ian gave him a tiny smile and nodded. Changing the subject, he asked, "So tell me about this crystal..."

***

"Point me at a book, boss man," Xander said as they walked into the nursery. "I'm ready and something kinda approaching able to do the big R."

Giles smiled faintly as he gestured towards the small table piled high with books he hadn't had a chance to fully look through yet. "You can start with any of those." Having Xander helping really did bring a wave of nostalgia for the days back in Sunnydale, which brought with it a stubborn sense of hope.

No matter how bad things had become during those days, they had always managed to find an answer. Xander's assistance helped strengthen Giles' belief that they would this time as well.

"Right." Xander's one eye widened in obvious dismay as he looked at the book pile. "A clue about what I'm looking for?"

Sorting through his own notes, Giles pulled out a paper with the prophecy and other key words and phrases for which he'd been scanning. "Anything you feel could relate to any of these things," he said, handing it to Xander.

"Right," Xander repeated. He took the piece of paper and the first two books from the pile and sat down on the sofa. "Hmm, not wanting to give up my slob credentials just yet, but would you mind if I cleared some of the debris first?"

"Ah. Yes." Giles looked around the room, seeing the detritus cluttering it with fresh eyes. "I suppose I have been rather..."

As Xander collected together the empty whisky bottles, ashtrays and plates, he quietly asked, "Does it strike you as, you know, ironic or something? We're so concerned about that poor confused Slayer downstairs, and at the same time, we... Well, we know what we know. About Dawn, I mean."

"I've found that type of juxtaposition quite distressingly common in my years as a Watcher," Giles confided. "In the past, every Watcher who was assigned a Slayer went into it knowing it wasn't a question of if he would be called upon to sacrifice his charge, but when." He sighed heavily. "I had truly believed that we'd managed to change that. I suppose we have; it's not my Slayer I'm being called on to sacrifice, after all."

He could feel Xander's gaze boring into his back, but after a pause, all Xander said was, "Are we planning to contact the girl's parents?"

"Not right away," Giles said after giving it some thought. "When she's been at Devon for a while and the Coven's helped undo what Francesca did to her mind, then she can contact them herself."

"Least she'll be safe down there." Xander sat down again and cracked open a book with enough gusto to worry the librarian in Giles. "Life-or-death research time. It's enough to make me feel nostalgic."

"Indeed." Giles settled down in his usual seat and reached for the book he'd been going through yesterday when he'd stopped. "I was just thinking that myself. All we need is a box of doughnuts and assorted customers or students and school officials wandering in to interrupt us at random intervals."

"When my one eye tries to cross all by its ownsome, I'll head down to Mrs B. and get some cake in lieu of doughnuts. Maybe get Ethan up here for the break? Before he went missing yesterday, we were going to talk scheduling with him."

"Oh, Ethan's going to be joining us," Giles said, flipping through the book's pages, already beginning to get lost in the act of research. "He should be coming up any time now."

"Oh. Good. Can't have been nice down in that damp basement. I mean, not like he's a vamp we need to chain up or anything." There was the sound of Xander turning pages. "He, uh, knows I know now, doesn't he?"

"Of cour–" Giles began automatically, but then realised that, no, he'd never got around to bringing that up. "Actually, I haven't had a chance to tell him," he finished a bit sheepishly.

Xander made a grunting noise and shifted on the sofa. "Lots happened yesterday. Not really surprised you forgot."

There was quiet for a while as they both read their books. Giles made the occasional note. Xander got up eventually and grabbed another book, but no progress was made really.

Eventually, Xander yawned noisily and stretched before standing up. "Gonna go get some munchies for lunch – anything strike your fancy?"

Giles blinked and glanced over at the small clock he'd brought up to keep track of the time that so often seemed to disappear when he got lost in his research. He frowned at what he saw. "Ethan should've come up by now."

"You think he...?" Xander paused. "Could your link thing have dropped again?"

"I don't know." He checked now, mentally calling out, ' _Ethan, love? Did you decide not to come up after all?_ '

There was only the shortest of pauses, then, ' _Er, time certainly flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? Sorry, dearheart. We'll be right up._ '

Giles closed his eyes briefly in relief, only then acknowledging that he'd been genuinely worried. "The link's fine. He's on his way up now."

"That's a relief. I'll get food for him too then." Xander left the room just as Ethan started to talk in Giles' head again.

' _Um. Try not to be too angry with me?_ ' Giles could virtually see Ethan cringing. ' _I've... Well, it was for the best. You'll see. Focus on the fact that I've actually got somewhere today, and we'll be fine._ '

' _What is it that you think I'm going to be angry about?_ ' Giles asked, trying to keep his mind from running through a list of increasingly absurd possibilities.

' _I did something I said I wouldn't,_ ' Ethan admitted simply. ' _I just couldn't stay silent any more, Rupert. Really, I couldn't. Not when he might've had the answers we're seeking. And he has helped a great deal already._ '

' _He who?_ ' But as soon as he asked it, Giles realised that there was only one person it could have been. ' _Ian._ '

' _Yes. I've let you down._ '

' _What?_ '

_'I've told him, well, everything. I'm sorry, Rupert. Truly. He was so persistent, and... and I needed to. How angry are you?'_

' _I'm not angry at all. Actually... I've had a bit of assistance myself this morning._ '

The door opened at this point, and Skunk padded in, quickly followed by Ethan, and more sedately, by Ian. Both men had armfuls of books. Ethan quickly looked around the room, an unreadable expression on his face. "Who?"

"Xander." Giles got up and moved to help, taking some of the books from Ethan. "He's gone to get us some provisions."

"So... you told him? What, after the Slayer...? You didn't..." Ethan stared at Giles.

"It was yesterday," Giles said. "Right before I discovered I couldn't reach you. It rather slipped my mind amidst everything else that was happening." He wasn't quite able to decipher Ethan's expression, so he added tentatively as well as silently, ' _Are you angry with me?_ '

Ethan gave him a very pointed look. ' _Oh no. I've only been going through an agony of indecision, desperation and guilt this morning. Why would I be the least bit miffed with you?_ '

' _I'm sorry. I really had intended to tell you; it just slipped my mind._ '

Ethan sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm not in trouble, old crow," he said aloud, and he moved closer to Giles, an uneasy expression on his face that seemed to be attempting to be a smile, but wasn't quite managing it.

Giles shifted the books he was holding enough to be able to lean in and kiss Ethan. Sometimes actions spoke more clearly than words. The way Ethan, his eyes closed, tried to follow Giles' lips back when the kiss ended also spoke volumes.

' _Love you,_ ' Giles sent, giving in enough to kiss Ethan again briefly.

This time Ethan let him pull back. "Ian and I have planned out a pattern ritual that should, maybe, allow us to find that one vital component."

"Ethan had already done all of the hard research part," Ian said, speaking for the first time. "I just took what he found and fit it to a technique I knew."

"I would have been stuck for weeks if not months longer without him. We're going to try it this afternoon if that suits." Ethan reached out to rub his hand over the top of Giles' where it rested on a book.

"Yes, of course," Giles said instantly. "What do you need from me?"

"We could do with you there, although it won't be a very exciting role for you, I'm afraid." Ethan squeezed Giles' hand. "With the two of us pattern mages working together, there may be a tendency to get lost in our own webs. We need you to... to stay on the ground and hold the rope, metaphorically speaking."

"I'll be happy to help in whatever capacity you need," Giles assured him, turning his hand to squeeze Ethan's in return. Being Ethan's anchor, after all, was something that came as easily as breathing.

And that finally got him a proper Ethan smile. "What we did, the three of us the other night, should make it easier. Help you ground Ian too." He held his other hand out behind him and seemed to be waggling it at Ian.

"Not that that had any reason to do with why the other night happened," Ian said, closing the distance between them and briefly clasping Ethan's hand. "It is a nice fringe benefit however."

"So, you and Xander," Ethan started. "Dare I ask?"

"I suppose that all depends on what you're thinking of asking," Giles said, disturbing images of what Ethan could mean –in jest, he was certain– flashing through his mind.

Ethan looked carefully at Giles. "I was asking if you'd made any progress, dear. With the research."

Oh. Of course he was. Giles wondered if maybe he had perhaps been researching a bit too hard. "No, not that you would notice," he answered. "Other than to eliminate more texts as locations of a possible solution."

Ethan put a hand on Giles' shoulder. "How about a rest until after lunch then? Come and sit down with me?"

"I was actually planning on taking a break in order to look for you before you finally showed up here," Giles said, moving the books he'd taken from Ethan to a mostly clear section of his makeshift workspace before letting Ethan lead him over to the sofa.

Ian had put his books down as well and was now leaning against the windowsill.

Ethan sat down close to Giles, leaning against him and rubbing his hand down Giles' leg, and Giles slid his arm around Ethan's shoulders, settling back into the sofa's cushions with a sigh. Having Ethan here did make a difference; he could feel some of the tension in his body easing just a bit at Ethan's touch. There was stillness then in the room, a comfortable quiet that felt soothing to Giles. Ethan was feeding him magic through the hand on his leg, and that too was the stuff of comfort.

It didn't last nearly long enough. Everyone straightened and looked alert as Xander returned to the room. He had a heavy tray in his hands, but he wasn't paying it much attention. Rice spilled from the large central bowl, and he placed the tray hurriedly on Giles' desk. Looking worriedly around the three of them, he said, "Uh, the news. I just saw it."

His stomach clenching, Giles said, "Tell me."

"The government's introducing quarantining. Stevenage, Wandsworth and, um, some other places with freaky British names I can't remember, have been declared no-go areas for all but special teams who are in charge of the evacuations. But it's worse than that," Xander stared earnestly at Giles. "There's a place in the east of London, um, Barking? It's cut off all together. No one's coming out or going in. There's like this cloud over it. They showed footage of it from afar; it was all writhing and stuff. There was this woman being interviewed who'd been on a subway train that kinda got cut in half when the cloud came down. The front part of the train... well, no one knows what's happened to it, since you can't get through the cloud."

"So," Ian said softly. "It truly begins. The stuff of raw chaos pouring into this reality. Probably broke through there because some poor git had an altar and was messing around with things he didn't understand."

"It's spreading," Xander said bleakly. "Least that's what the news guy seemed to think. No official word on it at all."

"There'll be a news blackout any minute now," Ethan said with dark cynicism. "Just wait."

"Should we worry about why Pamela hasn't called?" Xander asked Giles.

"Not overly so," Giles said, grateful to have a smaller problem to focus on for a brief moment. The large problem was too much to concentrate on all at once. "This kind of disturbance is going to cause difficulties with communications – if not affecting it directly, then by overloading as everyone tries to contact their families and friends."

"Point." Xander nodded then screwed up his face in a grimace. "Buffy and Willow are gonna be going nuts worrying about us all."

Ethan's hand was clenching Giles' leg uncomfortably hard, although he was showing little other outward sign of disturbance. "Did the others see the news too, Xander?" he asked, almost casually.

"Kat and Dawn did. Megan's with our captive, and Matthew went to town today."

"No one riding shotgun?" Ethan frowned. "I'm not entirely sure that was wise. They know where we are now, remember."

"I doubt you would have been able to talk Matthew into taking along a bodyguard even if you tried," Giles said, knowing stubbornness was a trait his cousin shared with him.

"Want me to do a round robin kinda thing?" Xander asked. "Call up everyone who needs calling?"

"Might be an idea," Ethan agreed. He looked down as he added, "Think we may need to get a move on with that ritual."

"Ritual?" Xander asked.

"It's more or less a locating spell," Ian put in. "To find a specific artefact needed to contain the Key's energy when..."

Xander glanced quickly at Giles. "So Ian... uh, too?"

"You're not the only one who was persistent in seeking information about what Ethan and I have been doing," Giles said, giving Xander a wry glance. Again, he was glad of these little details to focus on. As long as he kept focusing on them, he could ignore the horror of what was happening and what was looking increasingly like the only way they could stop it.

"Gotcha. So you wisely want non-magical me away from the scene. Phone calls it is then. Any specific instructions? You know those in America are gonna want to drop everything and come help."

As Xander said that, Ethan's fingers started to dig into Giles' thigh painfully.

"Tell them that it's quite likely that the situation is unstable and that travel to England would be far too risky at this point," Giles said, thinking quickly. He covered Ethan's hand with his own, trying to get him to relax his grip a little.

Xander winced, but then nodded and left without another word. As soon as the door closed, Ethan slipped his arm behind Giles and tugged him close. A surge of magic was pulsed into Giles' skin.

Giles closed his eyes and sent a pulse back, losing track of who was comforting whom.

"We should eat," Ethan said by Giles' ear, with little enthusiasm. "We'll need our stamina."

"Take a bit of time with each other," Ian advised, heading for the door. "I'll go get everything set up, and when you're ready, Ethan, you'll know where to find me." Giles saw the two share a wan smile before Ian walked out the door, shutting it again behind him.

"My poor Rupert," Ethan murmured sadly, kissing the side of Giles' face.

Giles let out a shaky sigh and closed his eyes again as he pulled Ethan closer still. "We're running out of time."

"Yes," Ethan agreed after a short pause. "I'm sorry."

Giles shook his head. "Not your fault."

"Still sorry," Ethan told him with a soft, wry chuckle. He sighed. "Let me get the food. We'll need the calories." He sighed again and didn't move.

"I think we need this more," Giles said, sliding a hand down Ethan's spine.

In response, Ethan looked up at him with an expression of utter need. Then he seemed to catch himself and schooled his face into a resigned little smile. He looked down again. "Rupert, when the... if the time comes, you should let me tell her. Let me play the villain; it's my calling, after all."

"No." Giles reached out and touched Ethan's face gently. "I appreciate the offer, love, but no. You're not the villain in this, any more than I am. If we have to do this, we do it together."

"Your pain actually hurts me a great deal more than my own, dear. Strange, no?" Ethan played restlessly with the buttons of Giles' shirt. "That's not an excuse to start hiding things from me. You couldn't anyway. We're too close now. I'd know."

There was comfort in being known that well, being that tied to someone, a comfort that Giles could never have predicted. "I know you would," he said, catching Ethan's hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss.

There was a short silence as Ethan snuggled even closer, but then he said, "I used to know a bloke who lived in Barking. Psychic. Wonder if the cards warned him to get his family out in time."

"I wonder what the cards would say about us right now."

"Oh, Judgement, the Lovers –as in, the choice– Death, the Devil, a good sprinkling of the more unpleasant Sword cards, and the Falling Tower, crowning it all. See, I really don't need to go and get my pack."

"Everything so dire," Giles murmured. "There wouldn't be even a smidgen of hope in your reading?"

Ethan shut his eyes and actually seemed to be considering it, unlike his first flippant answer. "The Two of Cups, of course. Hmm, the Magician, several upright courts, and the Seven of Swords. Good card, that seven. For a fox, anyway."

Giles chuckled. "Lucky I have one of those then."

"When the hounds have your scent, you have to hope to whatever you believe in that your cunning is greater than their power and sheer numbers."

"That always seems to be the situation we find ourselves in," Giles observed softly.

Ethan looked up and actually gave Giles a little grin. "Good job I've got sly written in my DNA then, isn't it?"

"A very good thing," Giles agreed, returning the smile with a small one of his own.

Ethan pressed a kiss onto him, but then stirred. "We are going to eat," he said stubbornly as he stood. "We can do the other thing at the same time."

"All right," Giles said, already missing Ethan's warm weight in his arms.

Ethan looked down at the tray Xander had left, shrugged and carried only the big bowl of what looked like some kind of paella or kedgeree back with him, together with a single fork. "We'll eat some of this and talk only about pleasant things. Then we'll spend a few minutes doing even more pleasant things with our mouths before going to find Ian." Ethan looked pointedly down at Giles' lap.

Giles followed his gaze then looked back up at Ethan with a raised eyebrow. "Something you want, love?"

"May I?" Ethan asked, a little sardonically. "Sit?"

"When have you ever needed to ask?" Nonetheless, he shifted to make it easier for Ethan to sit.

Ethan folded himself down onto Giles' lap, wriggling until they were both comfortable. "Now remember, only happy subjects until we've finished eating." He raised a forkful of rice towards Giles' mouth.

"This is becoming a habit," Giles said, but still opened his mouth to let Ethan feed him.

"A good habit," Ethan insisted, taking the fork back and feeding himself a mouthful.

"You like feeding me."

Ethan didn't deny it, just smiled and lifted the fork once more to Giles' lips. "Let's talk about our pub. You know, the one we're going to buy."

Giles smiled as he let Ethan feed him this second mouthful. "What about it?"

"Well..." Ethan thought for a moment as he ate. "Where should it be?"

"Some quaint village somewhere," Giles mused. "Although perhaps not near a river, given your penchant for falling in."

"Near the sea," Ethan said, smiling. "Or somewhere else wild. Somewhere I can go lose myself in patterns for an afternoon every once in a while."

"Just as long as you don't get any ideas about bringing an oil tanker or somesuch home from any of those little excursions."

A slow beaming smile appeared on Ethan's face.

"I said don't get any ideas," Giles reminded him.

"I would never plan to do something like that, dearheart," Ethan told him, with a little too much emphasis on 'plan' for Giles' comfort. "Promise."

"Right. I'll just have to go with you on these little communes with the wild then, won't I?" If anything, Ethan's grin grew even broader, and he kissed Giles before feeding him another forkful. "It would be nice to have some land for the dogs to be able to get a good run in," Giles mused, after chewing and swallowing.

"Yes." Ethan glanced over at the two dogs who were lying peacefully together. "But we'd have to be within driving distance of a good sized town as well."

"Can take the boy out of the city..." Giles teased.

Ethan chuckled, but then his face fell. He looked down at the bowl in his lap; they'd hardly made a dent in its contents. "Had enough of this?"

And reality, which they'd been able to escape for a few precious minutes, surged up and tried to crush Giles under its weight again. He sighed and rested his forehead against Ethan's. "Ian's probably waiting for us by now."

Without a word, Ethan slipped from Giles' lap, deposited the bowl on the tray, and set about gathering some of his notes together. Then he gazed at Giles. "Promise me?"

"Promise you what?"

Ethan snorted, his expression wry. "That we'll have our little pub one day, of course. Come what bloody well may."

Giles looked at him for a long moment, then got up and crossed over to where Ethan was standing. They needed something to hold onto, a future to look for beyond all of this.

"I promise," Giles vowed in a quiet, sure voice.


	8. Chapter 8

"Good choice," Ethan said to Ian as he and Rupert entered the clearing in the woods and quickly appraised the spot Ian had chosen for the ritual.

Were it not for the circumstances, for the strain that threatened to topple everything and everyone Ethan held dear, he'd actually be looking forward to this. To do magic with Ian, wild and far-reaching magic – it felt almost as if Ethan was about to reclaim his soul.

Ian grinned at him with knowing eyes. "I scouted out likely places when we first arrived. Rather unsurprisingly, given your family history, Rupert, there are quite a lot of locations that offer that extra-sensitivity to magic."

Ethan wandered closer to the large ant mound that dominated the woodland floor here amongst the beech trees. It looked almost like a hillock of sawdust, only it was redder, fiery coloured, and the surface was moving. "Perfect," he murmured, instinctively twisting the patterns of the ants to go around him. "See this, Rupert? This is Chaos in action. The right sort of Chaos, of course."

Rupert came over until he was looking over Ethan's shoulder. He hummed 'The ants come marching' as he watched with a bemused expression.

"I'll keep them away from you, dearheart. Never fret. Big little buggers, aren't they?"

"Wouldn't want to have them marching through the kitchen," Rupert replied. He paused. "That isn't going to be part of the ritual, is it? We're not going to end up with a homing ant?"

Ethan snorted. "As the item in question could be in Outer Mongolia for all we know, that wouldn't be very practical now, would it?"

"Although it could be an interesting variant to try some time," Ian mused as he busied himself with pen and paper.

Ethan was almost buzzing with the anticipation. And hell, he wasn't a guilt-ridden Watcher; it wasn't obligatory to maintain pallbearer levels of moroseness at all times. Magic went better if you were into it, anyway. Joy was not something to feel guilty about; it was a gift... and he was probably protesting too much, but even so, he was right.

He grinned over at Ian. "Want some help remembering it all?"

Ian wrote down a couple more lines then handed both paper and pen to Ethan. "I do believe I got it all, but feel free to check my work."

Ethan skimmed through Ian's writing; he did seem to have included everything they'd been able to discover about the crystal and its creation. There was nothing Ethan needed to add, unless... hmm. He moved around behind Rupert, using his back to lean on as he added, 'It is required by the Arch-guardians of the Third Millennium to contain the Word of God.'

Ian took it back and looked at what Ethan had added. "Good," he said, nodding with approval. "That kind of prophetic statement always helps sharpen the patterns."

The approval felt good even if his eager reaction to it felt embarrassing. Ethan smiled at Ian. "So, are we ready to begin?"

Rupert stirred. "Where do you want me?"

"With us, to start with. I need to bond our patterns together as I did yesterday, only with Ian's included as well. That way, you can be our anchor as we're going very deep into pattern." Ethan smirked at Rupert. "I won't start anything dubious between us out here. Promise."

"Not until the spell is completed at least," Ian threw in, deadpan.

Ethan was aware that his chuckle was rather too close to a giggle. He took Rupert's hand in one of his and held the other out to Ian as he backed them away from the ant mound. "Come on, let's make like araldite."

Ian smiled as he took Ethan's proffered hand, blue eyes sparkling with good humour despite the seriousness of why they were doing this.

This part of the ritual was Ethan's to perform as Ian had never done this sort of thing, Derek dying before he'd had the chance to learn. "Hold each others' hands too," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Circles are good things in any sort of magic."

They did so. He could feel them both looking at him expectantly.

It really was surprisingly easy to weave patterns together now that he knew how, and adding a third person didn't seem to add difficulties. Ethan quickly 'darned' node to corresponding node again and again until the three of them were linked at an intrinsic level.

The impulse to be a little naughty here was strong with the three of them together like this and performing pattern magic. Ethan felt a shiver of excitement go through him, although he resisted acting upon it, opening his eyes again. He felt as much as saw Ian's knowing look shot his way, which was just another indicator that he had woven them all together successfully.

Reluctantly, he let Rupert's hand drop. "You'd better find somewhere to sit down now, dearheart... before I jump on you and demand ravishing."

"Spell first, ravishing later," Rupert agreed as he headed over and settled on a fallen log. Ian chuckled.

Ethan smiled at Ian, and they made their way back to the anthill, where Ethan picked up the jar from the few items Ian had carried out here. Ian grabbed their page of notes and a box of Swan Vesta. Taking the lid from the jar, Ethan asked, "Ready then, Lord Crow?"

"Ready. You?"

"Completely. Let's do it."

Ian pulled out one of the pink-headed matches and struck it, touching it to the corner of the paper and setting it alight. He pushed the paper into the jar Ethan was holding, and they watched until all of it had burnt to powder.

"Shall I be mother?" Ethan asked, proffering the jar towards the ant mound.

"By all means." Ian gestured dramatically.

Tipping the jar carefully, Ethan scattered the ash over the ant mound. Some of it blew away in the breeze, but enough landed for their purposes. He felt he should say something, the old-school Chaos rituals he'd used for so long had required at least a level of solemnity and rote, but the best he could think of here was, "There you go, girls. Some nice new reading material for you."

Ian chuckled again as he pocketed the box of matches. "Now we wait and see what they have to tell us."

Tossing the jar to the side, Ethan took Ian's hand again and let his vision slip into the first levels of pattern sight. "We haven't worked like this together since you were teaching me how."

"I imagine this is where we find out how well you learnt your lessons then, eh?" Ian said with a smile as Ethan felt his mentor slip into pattern sight as well.

"I'll follow you, to start with at least."

It was easy to let Ian control their path as they went deeper into the developing pattern the ritual was creating; his touch was deft and practiced, moving their awareness slowly, becoming one with what was happening.

The paths and patterns of the ants were infinitely complex when all the variables were added to a four-dimensional spectrum. The plan wasn't to look for anything in particular within it; they were just allowing whimsy and random luck to take their joined perceptions where they would. Their focus moved, at first slowly, but then increasingly fast.

Ethan was starting to feel just slightly giddy, which only added to the excitement. He squeezed Ian's hand. "This is like the very best rollercoaster," he said a little breathlessly.

Ian squeezed back. "We're just getting started."

And with that, they seemed to dive, plunging headfirst into the array of probability and event that formed the anthill at this level of seeing. It was breath-stealing, mind-expanding, as if they were striding universes as opposed to just watching ants. The nodes shone like stars and made constellations no less potent than the ones above.

Ethan was still passive in their exploration, initiating nothing, receiving everything, but he was getting the impression that Ian wasn't exactly in control himself. They went where the currents and eddies took them, where the dance wove them through the warp and weft of the pattern.

"Better than steering a boat down a one-way river, no?" Ethan said, or at least he thought he'd said it, but he was so deep in pattern that the words themselves became four-dimensional, like ornate beads in the tapestry they travelled.

He must have said them though as Ian answered. "Warmer, at least." Despite the wry understatement, Ethan knew, could feel, that Ian was as hard and high as he was himself. And how could he not be? Boating on the Thames had been fun, a good jape, but this? This was glorious. Rivers, however old and loaded with history, were very linear things; surface things too in the main.

The patterns of a living, growing, constantly active community of creatures were more complex than every waterway in the world seen together. Although, having said that...

Suddenly the patterns seemed almost to click, like one of those magic eye pictures coming into focus, and Ethan realised what he was looking at. "That's London! Ian, that looks just like an aerial view of London. See, the wiggly line is the Thames."

"Indeed. It looks as if we won't have to make that trip to Mongolia, after all."

Ethan snorted. "Really, it's making our big adventurous destiny seem a trifle provincial, isn't it? Will the patterns take us closer, do you think? I don't fancy the haystack and needle picture we currently have."

"Shall we see?" Ian asked, and with that, the roller coaster was off again, swooping and plunging them down and up as they moved ever deeper into the pattern, ever closer to the representation of London.

For a moment, Ethan thought worriedly that they were being taken to the Thames; diving for lost artefacts was something he could assuredly live without. But the motion paused again over what he thought must be Blackfriars Bridge and moved north, just a little way. "All right," he said slowly, when they didn't start moving again, "we're looking at Fleet Street, I think. Wish we'd brought an A-Z with us. Hmm, Rupert?"

Rupert had been sitting quietly, a silent presence in the back of Ethan's mind as he and Ian rode the patterns. Ethan wasn't sure how much of that wild ride Rupert had been aware of, but he came forward immediately when Ethan called. "Yes?"

"Hold my hand, dearest?" Ethan held out his free one. "Join in the fun." A second or two passed and then Rupert's familiar hand grasped his. "Brace yourself, we're going in," Ethan told him with a chuckle he couldn't resist, and he gifted Rupert with full pattern sight.

"Bloody hell," Rupert muttered as he got the full effect all at once. Ian also chuckled.

Ethan squeezed Rupert's hand tightly as he felt him stagger a little under the brunt of the things he was now seeing. "Just relax. Don't fight it. Surrender to it like you would good sex."

"That's quite an apt analogy in some ways," Ian pointed out. "Have to say it's quite refreshing not to be masturbating, so to speak."

"Never any need to resort to that while we're around, dear crow," Ethan said wickedly. "Now Rupert, see the fattest of the long golden lines?"

"Yes," Rupert replied immediately. "That's the trail?"

"That, I think, is Fleet Street. Orientate yourself before we go in closer. You know this part of London better than I."

Rupert was quiet for a minute as he got his bearings; then he made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat.

"Mmm, what is it?" Ethan asked.

"If I haven't got myself turned around, I do believe we're hovering directly over my secret vault."

He couldn't help it; Ethan let out a bark of laughter. "Take us in deeper if you can, Ian, and if my most darling husband is correct, it's his turn for a spanking tonight."

Ian chuckled and obeyed, threading their way deeper still into the pattern, rushing them down towards the street and then below it.

Ethan felt another giddy thrill as the focus moved underground. The patterns were different here, darker and less frenetic. If above ground had been a rollercoaster, this was the ghost train. He wasn't sure what he was looking at in terms of the anthill, but that didn't matter.

There were darkly glowing tracks, tunnels, everywhere, but the centre of their focus seemed to be a chamber of some kind. "Rupert, is that...?"

"It is." Rupert sounded bemused.

"And you never once thought to tell me you were in possession of the item I've been killing myself trying find for days now?" Ethan's chuckle sounded only slightly strained to his ears. "You know, the item that I never actually described to you because I didn't have a description."

"I suppose it does explain why that place felt like mine from the moment I found it," Rupert said. "I really was meant to find it."

"You know," Ethan said dryly to no one in particular, "I've said it before, but I'm sure if I focus just right, I'll be able to see the strings. They chafe at times. Really."

"It's not strings," Ian said, "so much as you being integral parts of the pattern. You exist to ensure it continues. It's going to touch you more strongly than it does others."

Ethan saw exactly what Ian meant, but he still thought he should be, at the very least, pissed off with this almost ludicrous turn of events. He really should, but on the other hand, this wasn't as Ian had pointed out, Outer Mongolia. Or worst still, another dimension. This was somewhere extremely accessible.

Looking at it that way, it was hard to imagine a better result, unless the crystal were to be found lurking in the attic here, anyway. Laughing again as there was no other sensible way to react to this, Ethan asked brightly, "So who's for a trip up to town?"

***

Right. This was it. He was twenty-one and finally a free man, and he was damned if he wasn't going to have fun.

Rupert drove down Oxford Street, which, with just four shopping days 'til Christmas, meant driving slower than he could walk, but he didn't give a toss. The lights were bright, strung across the thoroughfare, and the swarming shoppers seemed exotic and almost outrageously colourful. Ethan could show them all a thing or two about style though.

Ethan. Rupert smiled, imagining his boyfriend's reaction at finding him at the door. He'd got Ethan a present too, but Rupert knew, felt very confident, that Ethan's best present would be the boxes and bags in the back of Rupert's clapped out Morris Minor. All his worldly goods, what he'd cared to take, anyhow.

Once he was free of the big shops, driving through Holburn at this time on a Friday night was easy. Rupert motored through the City, hardly seeing the grand old buildings 'cause the Zep were on the radio, and he was singing his heart out with Robert Plant. The buildings around him got smaller and dirtier, and then he was there. Whitechapel and the grotty top floor flat that Ethan had wangled rent-free through some no doubt dubious means that Rupert never had been able to get the whole truth about.

He found a parking spot directly in front of the flat, taking it as another sign that this was the right decision. Not that he needed any signs to tell him that, not anymore, but he couldn't stop making note of them anyway.

Getting out of the car, Rupert grabbed Ethan's gift and one of his bags and headed inside, up the stairs to Ethan's flat.

Their flat now, so long as Ethan hadn't changed his mind.

Something smelled foul on the first floor, but either luck or some cantrip of Ethan's had kept the air clean by the third. The door was shut and warded, but Ethan's wards didn't keep Rupert out any longer. They hadn't done for a long time now. Should he go straight in, or should he knock and make this more... formal?

For a brief moment, Rupert surprised himself by worrying what he might find inside. What if Ethan, thinking himself Rupert-free until the New Year, had found himself some easy company? Rupert shook his head, dismissing that thought as highly unlikely, but still, he wasn't quite able to shake the sudden case of nerves as he made his decision and knocked on the door.

He only became aware that he'd been hearing music at a low register when it stopped. There was a pause, and then Ethan swung the door open in a hurry. "Rupert!" He was grinning, but obviously confused. "I thought..."

"That I would be spending Christmas at home? I am." Rupert paused to take a breath before continuing. "Here. If the offer's still open...?"

"You're here for Christmas? The whole of it?" Ethan either couldn't or simply wasn't bothering to mask how happy that made him. He moved back into the room. "What have I done to deserve such a brilliant present? Or... should I ask what have they done?"

"Nothing," Rupert was quick to assure him as he stepped into the flat. "Or nothing that isn't the usual at least." He put Ethan's present down on the table and his bag on the floor. "I just made a decision about where I wanted to be."

Ethan was getting his composure back now, although Rupert knew him well enough to spot the spring in Ethan's step as he walked up and looped his arms around Rupert's neck. "And me without even a box of crackers in for the hols. We'll have to do a quick spot of lifting, my dear."

It was obvious that Ethan hadn't heard or hadn't taken in quite what was happening. Rupert grinned and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Certainly. Crowds should make it easy. but first you need to help me unload the car, bring all my stuff up."

A slight crease appeared between Ethan's brows. He was completely clean of make up, something Rupert didn't get to see all that often. "Don't tell me you've brought your homework with you?" But by the look that Ethan was now giving him, Rupert knew the other boy was starting to suspect... but perhaps not quite daring to believe.

"Not much point in that, considering I withdrew from Oxford," he said as casually as he could manage, watching Ethan's expression closely.

"Wh–what? Rupert, are you...?" Ethan was tense in his arms, his expression almost blank. This wasn't the reaction Rupert had been hoping for. He knew that expression, or rather the lack of it. Any moment now, Ethan would be pulling away and engaging in brittle sarcasm.

Trying to head that off, Rupert caressed Ethan's cheek and asked, "That offer to share still good?"

Ethan's eyes flicked shut. "Tell me you mean it." Barely audible at all.

"It's not a joke, Ethan," Rupert assured him. "I'm not just here for Christmas. I'm here for good, if you'll have me."

Ethan's eyes opened again and stared intensely at Rupert for a few seconds. " _If_ I'll have you?" Then a ridiculously broad grin cracked Ethan's impassivity. "Well, maybe, but you'll have to ask very nicely."

"Brat," Rupert said fondly.

Ethan, who always had been able to run the entire gauntlet of emotions in five minutes flat, was now bouncing on his toes excitedly. "You mean it? Really mean it?"

"The amount of stuff you're going to have to help me haul up here should be enough to convince y–"

He didn't finish what he was saying as suddenly he was trying to talk into Ethan's lips, now glued to his own. This was more the reaction he'd been expecting, hoping, he'd get. Rupert pulled Ethan closer and kissed him back with all the conviction in him.

Ethan writhed and pushed against him, and Rupert fondly imagined Christmas was about to come early, but then Ethan pulled back, his eyes avid. "We'll have to rearrange things. This is your place now as well as mine. You'll need areas that are just yours. And we'll have to nick some paint, and fix the leaking pipe, and–"

Rupert couldn't help but laugh and kiss Ethan again, the only way to cut off the stream of words long enough to say something himself. "How 'bout we start with bringing my things up, and then we can talk about rearranging and nicking and fixing and painting and shagging and all of that?"

Ethan grinned happily, but managed to calm down enough to say only, "Shagging? I believe you may be taking me for granted, Rupert, and you've only lived with me for, oh, a minute at the most."

"You saying there's not going to be shagging?" Rupert asked with a grin of his own as he took Ethan's hand and headed for the door, leading him out of the flat.

"Oh, I may deign to allow you access to my arse. If you ask nicely enough... and that includes simply pushing me into the nearest wall and taking what you want, of course." Ethan chuckled. "Be rude to refuse a request as thoroughly made as that."

And didn't that bring to mind some lovely mental images? "After we get my stuff up, we'll see what we can do." Rupert tossed a wicked grin over his shoulder at Ethan as they made their way down the narrow stairs. "Your arse can be my housewarming gift."

That provoked a definite giggle from Ethan. "I'll have to steal the bow from that interesting looking present you put down on the table. Stick it on my back pocket." His grin became grimace as they hit the stench on the first floor. "What _is_ that old bastard doing in there? Oh, I really don't want to know. _Renova aeram!_ "

An incongruous gust of wind blew down the stairwell as Ethan gestured, lifting debris as it passed. The air smelled much sweeter once it was gone.

"That's a new trick," Rupert observed, filing away the words and gesture and what he could sense of Ethan's magic to try it himself later.

"Needs must. The smell was encroaching into my space." There was a pause as they reached the front door, and then Ethan corrected himself happily. "Our space."

"That's not going to be a problem, is it?" Rupert suddenly wondered. "Me encroaching on your space?"

"My spaces, all of them, are yours, dear." Ethan smirked at him then opened the door.

"All of them?"

"Ears need syringing? I said all." Ethan sauntered out through the small yard to the street.

Rupert followed, stopping behind his car and opening the boot. "Might just have to test that out."

Ethan slinked around behind him, standing very close despite the returning shoppers and outgoing clubbers wandering through the street. "Am I to be an experimental subject? How thrilling."

"Oh, trust me, it will be," Rupert assured him, lifting a box of books out of the boot and handing it Ethan, who nearly dropped it.

"You have a collection of lead weights! How... novel."

"I did, but I left them behind. That's just a few books I thought we could use." Rupert grinned wolfishly. "My father will have apoplexy when he realises I took them."

Ethan's eyes widened, and he tightened his hold on the box. "Those sort of books? Oh, we're going to have the best sort of Christmas. Really, we are."

Rupert pulled out another box then closed the boot again, so nothing would go missing when they made the trip back up to the flat. "Yeah, we are. We should decorate – nick some garlands, maybe a piece or two of mistletoe..."

"There's a tree outside Swantons down on Copfield," Ethan remarked as they headed back inside. "The old git's in hospital; he doesn't need it."

"We going to nick a goose and all the fixings too?" Rupert asked with a smile as they headed back the stairs.

"Well, I know where there's a chicken, at least. You, um, know how to pluck?"

"Ah. I s'pose I could figure it out, but why don't we splurge and go out for a proper meal? I've got a bit of bread I've been saving up, can afford for us to go somewhere posh."

"On Christmas Eve? That-" Ethan balanced the box on his hip long enough to move his hand within the wards outside his door then pushed the door open with his arse, beaming at Rupert "-would be smashing!"

"Right then. That's what we'll do." Rupert looked around, finally settling on putting his box down over in the far corner.

When he straightened up, he saw Ethan was still holding his box back by the door, looking suddenly uncertain.

"What is it?" Rupert asked, walking back over.

Ethan's cheek twitched as he attempted a smile. "Nothing, dear. Where do you want this?"

"I probably should be asking you that." He took the box from Ethan. "Your space I'm moving into, don't want to run roughshod over it."

"No." Ethan shook his head. "Take what you need. I can rearrange my own things. It's just junk, most of it, anyway."

Rupert frowned and put the box down so he could wrap his arms around Ethan instead. "It's your things. Therefore, by definition, not junk."

Ethan's cheek twitched again. "None of it matters. Not compared to..."

"To...?"

Ethan just smiled and fidgeted, finally laying his forehead on Rupert's shoulder.

There were times when Rupert felt like he knew everything Ethan was thinking or feeling, and there were other times when the boy was a complete mystery to him. "Talk to me, love," he bade gently.

There was a lot more fidgeting and then an evasive, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." The word, heartfelt, slipped out without thought. Rupert slid a hand up to toy with the hair at the nape of Ethan's neck. "But I'll settle for now for why the smiles disappeared."

"I'm smiling," Ethan said to Rupert's shoulder. "Shall we leave the rest of the boxes 'til later?" He wriggled enticingly against Rupert.

Rupert's body was quite enthusiastically in favour of that plan; however, his mind was still working on the puzzle of Ethan's mercurial emotions, especially since Ethan was still not meeting Rupert's eyes. "Of course," he replied. "If you tell me what's eating you first."

Ethan pulled back and smiled, although it looked a bit forced. "I'm happy. Truly. This will be my best Christmas ever."

Rupert believed that Ethan was telling him the truth, but there was still something underneath, something that was shadowing the joy in Ethan's eyes. It didn't look like Ethan was about to tell him what it was, however, and indeed, Rupert recognised one of his boyfriend's favourite avoidance tactics as Ethan leant back in and flicked his tongue over Rupert's lips.

"Ethan..." Rupert murmured, not sure if he was going to ask him to stop or to continue.

"Mmm?" The tongue darted in and out of Rupert's slightly opened lips.

Rupert was rapidly losing his train of thought. "You..."

"Need a good shagging. Quite correct, dear." Ethan grinned at him before moving to nibble on the side of Rupert's neck. Rupert felt hands sliding down over his arse and back up again as Ethan moved sensually against him.

"But..." For the life of him, Rupert couldn't at that second think of any reason why he shouldn't shag Ethan then and there.

"Let me show you how happy I am that you're here?" Ethan suggested, making it very clear with his body the sort of thing this would entail.

Giving in, not that there had ever been any serious chance of him not doing so, Rupert kissed Ethan quite thoroughly then pulled back with a smile. "Show me then."

Ethan pouted seductively and began to dance to a slow, slow beat. He held Rupert by the waist, rubbing against him with every swing of his hips. "This is the long version," he said. "Do say if you'd prefer edited highlights."

"Perhaps another time." Rupert slid his hands down to cup Ethan's arse. "But I think I want the full unabridged edition right now."

"You wish is, as always, my command. Oh, by the way, Deirdre –you know, my fag-hag friend?– well, she gave me a present." Ethan languorously moved his hands down to cup Rupert's arse in turn and then slowly thrust their hips together. "I opened it already, of course."

"Impatient," Rupert teased, nuzzling lazily along Ethan's jawline. "So what did Deirdre get you?"

"It's called 'Starfield Express'." Ethan giggled, but didn't pause in his slow thrusting. "She's very naughty. You'll have to spank her for me."

"If I start spanking everyone who's naughty... Well, you'd wear my hand out without us ever leaving the flat."

Ethan chuckled against Rupert's ear. "Well, I'm not going to spank her. You saw what she was like, hands everywhere. Good present though. You'll like it."

"Oh?" That sounded... promising. "What is it?"

Ethan nibbled Rupert's earlobe for a few moments before pausing to say, "Luxury lube. With... added components."

Oh yes, very promising indeed, but curiosity led him to ask, "And these added components are...?"

That made Ethan laugh again. "Your guess is as good as mine; the packaging isn't exactly informative. But Deirdre says the bloke she got it from promised it was 'extraordinary'."

"So we really are experimenting then." Rupert chuckled. "Where is this mysterious luxury lube?"

"By the bed, of course." Ethan pulled back and took Rupert's hand. "We'll have to get a proper one now. Bed, that is."

"We'll put it on the to-nick list, but I do have a certain fondness for this old mattress here." He pushed Ethan down on it. "Where I first had you, after all."

"Yeah," Ethan said, with a smile both happy and hungry. He moved his hands down to Rupert's jeans and began to unbuckle. "History was made here. We have a historical mattress." He chuckled. "Old enough to be an antique anyway.

Rupert pulled off his jumper then started pulling up Ethan's tops as well. "Historical and momentous shags, that's our specialty."

Ethan's hands stopped moving briefly as he stared up at Rupert, clearly lost in thought again, but then he startled back into action, divesting Rupert of his jeans and pants rapidly. "Still can't quite believe you're here. I was resigned to not seeing you until January."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to surprise you," Rupert said, dropping his hands and eyes to the fastenings on Ethan's jeans and pants. He didn't add that he hadn't told Ethan because he'd been unsure if he'd be able to gather the courage to actually leave until he'd done it.

Lying very still suddenly, Ethan spoke with a casual tone that was blatantly false to Rupert's perceptions. "Having second thoughts, by any chance?"

"No." Rupert looked up, meeting Ethan's eyes. "None. This is where I want to be."

Ethan smiled softly, but asked, "And tomorrow? And next week?"

Rupert nodded. "And next month and next year. When we're old men of fifty, I'll still want to be with you." He spoke with all the conviction in his heart; nothing had ever meant so much or been so clear.

Ethan's eyes widened and then shut tight, almost as if he'd caught the moment and was now trying to hold onto it. "Something's going to go wrong," he said in a strange voice. "I'm happy. Really happy. It can't last, you know. Life's not that kind. Not my life, anyway."

Rupert caressed Ethan's cheek gently, trying to find words to make Ethan feel better. "We're happy now, aren't we?"

After opening his mouth to speak, Ethan shut it again and just nodded. His eyes were still closed.

Leaning down, Rupert kissed him lingeringly before saying, "Can't we just live in this moment? I've spent my whole life being told I had to always prepare for the future, sacrifice the now for the then. That's what I've left. Left to be with you, because that makes me happy." He kissed him again. "You make me happy."

Ethan's eyes opened then; they were dark and intense. "Fuck me now, Rupert. Claim your territory."

Rupert grinned wolfishly and then devoured Ethan's mouth until they were both breathless. "Hand me some of that magic lube, love, and I'll claim you so hard you won't be able to walk after."

As Ethan did as he was bid, he laughed a little breathlessly. "In which case, going shop-lifting in a wheelchair could prove a barrel of... history and momentousness."


	9. Chapter 9

Giles found Pamela in the drawing room with Matthew. He knew she'd arrived at the Estate, as he'd felt her pass through the wards earlier and then of course spotted her car as he'd returned from the ritual in the woods with Ethan and Ian. The other two had gone off to see what they could manage to achieve with the captive Slayer –Madiha, her name was– but Giles wanted to talk to his assistant right away.

He hadn't precisely expected to find her crushed tightly against the chest of his cousin, however. Let alone kissing Matthew as if he'd just got back from the war.

The pair sprung apart as Giles coughed politely. Pamela appeared a little horrified. "Oh, sir. Um..."

Matthew just looked smugly good-humoured. "Poor timing, old man, but I'll forgive you."

Giles allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "I've learnt that locks on doors are excellent precautions against being interrupted," he offered in the way of friendly advice. "Not that Ethan and I remember them half the time, but..."

"Privacy should never be taken for granted," Pamela agreed, a twinkle in her eye despite the blush persisting on her face. She brushed down the front of her skirt. "You never know who might be watching... or listening."

"Especially if one's partner has very little if any shame," Giles added, remembering the fiasco with the intercom button and shagging Ethan on the top of his desk. "At the very least, don't get an intercom system."

"Do I want to know?" Matthew asked with an amused expression, looking between the two of them.

"Quite probably not. Although," Giles added thoughtfully, "Ethan will happily tell you if asked, which, actually, is a good barometer to use when judging it to be something you'd not want to know."

Matthew laughed, but then his expression sobered, and he looked carefully at Giles. "How are you, Rupert? This feels like the first time in days that I've clapped eyes on you, at least enough to talk."

"Been neck deep in research," Giles replied, noting with unease that he really had been retreating a bit too much if even Matthew had noticed the difference. "But we've a lead now, and Ethan and I are going to be heading into London to retrieve an item." He glanced at Pamela. "A briefing of what we could expect might be helpful."

Matthew nodded and put his hand, just a little possessively, onto Pamela's back. "Right ho. You two sit yourselves down and share notes. I'll be back with some refreshment in the quickest of jiffies." He started to leave, seemed to think better of it, pulled Pamela to him, and kissed her soundly. Then he left her blushing scarlet as he strode from the room, laughing benevolently.

Giles looked at his assistant and raised an eyebrow. "I see I have no need to ask how you're getting on liaising with my cousin."

She gave him a look that seemed lost at sea somewhere between happiness and sheer embarrassment. "He's, um, very forthright, sir."

"Indeed. Matthew is a good man. Not that you need my opinion or approval, but you have them regardless."

"I don't, it's true." She smiled openly. "But I'm glad of them nonetheless. Shall we sit, sir? I've got quite a bit to go through."

Giles nodded and sat down in one of the two armchairs that were close enough together for them to comfortably share information.

Pamela recovered her briefcase from near the window and then joined him. Her engaging blush had faded, and she was his efficient assistant again. "I presume you've been keeping up with the news, sir?"

"Yes. It's becoming rather grim out there, isn't it?"

"The information that reaches the public is the tip of the iceberg, I'm afraid. There's a selective news blackout in effect that the press are forbidden to acknowledge. The fabric of reality, England's reality, is being ripped and torn. Barbrak Mojadidi has set up a really rather clever map on the wall of Conference Room 2, which highlights all the Chaos-afflicted areas in real time." Pamela's look seemed apologetic. "They grow almost visibly fast, sir."

"Bugger." They really were on the verge of being out of time, weren't they? He still hadn't found a way to spare Dawn.

"No one knows, although everyone has a theory, what happens to the people caught in the rips. Are they dead, sir? Or just... changed. Changing." Was that a tremor in his resolute assistant's voice?

Or perhaps they were past the verge. Giles felt the weight of what they had to do pressing down on him heavier than ever. "We'll stop it, Pamela," he said softly, beginning to accept that they weren't going to be able to save Dawn. It made him feel... horrible. "The object we're going after, once we have that, well, we'll have a course of action to take."

Pamela released a breath Giles hadn't been aware she'd been holding. "Oh, that's such a relief to know, sir. Is there anything you need from me or the rest of the Council? We have our hands full, of course, dealing with hysterical officials and government ministers, and investigating the rips and incidents where we can, but your needs take precedence, obviously."

"We need to go into London, to Holborn thereabouts. Any help with plotting the safest route around what's going on in that area?"

After opening her briefcase, Pamela handed him a folder from within it. "That's a copy of the entire case-file on the Chaos rips up until when I left HQ. I'll call Barbrak before you go for the latest. Most of the city centre is untouched, but the suburbs are becoming increasingly afflicted. It's been hypothesised that the enemy is trying to form a ring around London."

"Interesting," Giles said, turning his mind around the puzzle; it allowed him to push the question of Dawn to the side yet again. "It sounds like charting these may lead us to the focal point. Excellent work." He looked up at Pamela. "This is going to be of great assistance."

She smiled at him, but her eyes looked tired. "Actually, sir, we may possibly already have the focal point. The directions Ethan was able to provide after your scrying have led us to a strange... manifestation."

"Oh?"

"There's a small Chaos blackspot there, but it's not like the others. It seems... stable. It's located in a basement of an old and abandoned department store. It appears to be a door. Literally, I mean – a freestanding door in the middle of a damp cellar. Maybe it's nothing, but..."

"No," Giles broke in. "I think that is certainly something. Perhaps the crucial something. No one must touch it until we've had a chance to investigate."

"We've had the local police cordon off the building, and there's a Watcher and two Slayers there all the time. The Watcher has authority over the civilians and police. Whitehall's been very good about that sort of thing. I suppose they don't have much choice."

There was a clink of crockery from outside in the corridor, and then Matthew reappeared carrying a loaded tea tray. "Can go again once I've put this down," he offered. "If you're still deep in the hush-hush."

Giles shook his head. "I think, at this point, you're in as deep as any of us."

Matthew put the tray on the small table near Giles and deftly poured them a cup of tea each, already knowing how they took them. "So things are direr even than they seem, I take it?" he asked as he handed Giles his cup and saucer.

"They always are," Giles sighed.

After handing Pamela her cup, Matthew crouched comfortably beside her chair with his own. "Anything I need to know, or help I can offer?"

"Ethan and I, like I said, will be heading to London first thing in the morning. I don't anticipate another physical attack so soon, but Kat and Megan will continue to patrol, and Ian will still be here to deal with any magical attacks while we're gone."

Matthew frowned. "Seems to me, you two leaving the warded estate together will be just the opportunity the enemy's been looking for."

His cousin was quite probably right, but what choice did they have? "Nonetheless, we have to go. We'll do what we can to shield and cloak ourselves; Ethan's quite talented with that type of spell."

"Hmm," Matthew seemed dissatisfied with that answer. He sipped his tea thoughtfully then said, "Take my Range Rover. I've been out several times with no problems."

"Maybe," Pamela started, a little hesitantly, "an illusion too? To make it look as if the car contains Matthew and no-one else."

"Good thinking, that girl!" Matthew patted Pamela's leg and beamed up at her.

"Woman," she corrected primly, but the twinkle in her eye was back.

That kind of illusion would certainly be easier to maintain for the length of the journey than the full cloak he and Ethan had been planning. "Thank you," Giles said. "We'll take you up on that offer."

"Good." Matthew nodded. "Now about this poor Arab girl all drugged up in one of my bedrooms..."

"Hopefully, after Ethan and Ian are finished, we'll be able to ease up on the drugs some," Giles said. "The plan is, once we're certain it's safe, to send her to Devon and have the Coven finish undoing any damage that's been done to her."

Matthew nodded, his expression grim. "Know it's necessary, Slayer-strength and all that, but can't say as I like having a young girl kept drugged and locked up in my house against her will."

"Neither do I, but sometimes it's necessary for the greater good to do things that are distasteful." And how well had that belief been tested in Giles time and again?

Matthew snorted and stood, walking around behind Giles' chair and patting him on the shoulder. "That, cousin, is why you're the head of the Council of Watchers, and I'm a lowly country squire. Blasting demons, that I can do and with pleasure, but the kind of decisions you have to make all the damn time... Well, that's the true heroics, isn't it?"

Was it? It certainly didn't feel that way most of the time. "Someone has to do it," Giles finally replied softly.

With another amused snort, Matthew tussled Giles' hair as if he, and not Giles, were the older man. "Going to clean out the double-R then. You don't want to travel with my junk underfoot. What time are you planning on leaving in the A.M.?"

Without thinking, Giles glanced at the clock then blinked at what he saw. When did it get to be so late? "First thing," he answered distractedly. "As early as we can get ourselves up."

"Right you are." Matthew's voice took on a softer tone as he addressed Pamela. "I'll be in the big garage, Pam. Come and find me when you're done here." Giles saw Pamela smile, and then Matthew was gone from the room again.

Giles took a deep breath. "Right. I suppose now would be a good time to go over whatever Council business needs my immediate attention."

After all, someone had to do it, didn't they?

***

They arose early the next morning to the news that the government had, at last, declared a State of Emergency. The media was now being strongly censored, but Pamela had been able to find out the truth of what was going on by ringing the Council. Heathrow, Heddon and Stoke Newington were under dark swirling clouds, it seemed, and the black miasma over Barking had spread to a three-mile radius. More towns and boroughs were being evacuated, and last night a protest march through the heart of London had turned into a violent riot with looting and at least five dead.

Ethan had watched the effect that the news had on Rupert with dismay; the weight of responsibility was like a cancer inside his husband, sucking him dry. Ethan couldn't stand it; it made him furious, but he was impotent in the face of it.

There had been near silence over their rushed breakfast, the young and female members of the household not yet up and about much to Ethan's relief. Then they'd said goodbye to their dogs and sat in Matthew's Range Rover within the garage while Ethan pulled the patterns into a convincing illusion. Or so he hoped.

Then they'd got on their way.

Ethan had been imagining without really thinking about it that they'd hit rush hour going into London, but the M4 eastbound was, it turned out, almost deserted. Westbound was another matter, long jams of traffic stretched as far as they could see. Regardless of government pleas for the public to stay put unless told otherwise, people, it seemed, were not stupid. They'd worked out that London was the danger zone, and they were evacuating themselves.

Never had the apocalypse felt so close to Ethan.

It was only as they saw with their own eyes the billowing, writhing darkness over what had once been Heathrow that Ethan realised that soon the M4 would be impassable. "Christ," he muttered, "Pamela was right. They're circling London, cutting it off."

"Yes." Rupert had glanced at the cloud, but quickly looked away again. "We're out of time. When we get back, we'll have to act."

"Yes, we will." Ethan couldn't argue, had no desire to argue, but he felt like he was agreeing to send Rupert to the guillotine. Rupert didn't reply, just reached over to take Ethan's hand, squeezing it.

Ethan stared bleakly at the cloud. He could feel it, pulling at him: raw, dark Chaos. The people in Heathrow, both the airport and the community, were they alive? If so, they must be mad by now. What mind could withstand the total disintegration of what was naively called 'reality'?

"I've never felt the urge to run more strongly," he said quietly. "And never would it achieve less to give in to it."

"There's nowhere to run to," Rupert replied in an equally quiet voice. "There never is, not really, not from ourselves."

Ethan didn't answer; what was there to say? He closed his eyes to the swirling cloud and pressed his head back into the headrest. He stayed that way until they were deep in Central London, when the car suddenly slowed.

Oh brilliant. Military road blocks in the heart of the capital. Ethan banged his head back into the soft rest a few times, and Rupert flicked the switch to roll down his window.

Rupert handed over a small rectangle of plastic to the soldier, an ID, or a pass, or a get out of jail free card, Ethan didn't know which, but whatever it was, the soldier looked at it, handed it back, saluted and then waved them through. Rupert glanced over at Ethan with the faintest ghost of a smile as he started them moving again. "Rank does occasionally have its privileges."

"They didn't even care who I was, being as I was with you." Ethan laughed wryly. "Now to get up to some mischief then. Or no, not anymore. I'm a force for law and order." His second bark of laughter had more than a hint of hysteria to it, and he cut it off short, looking away from Rupert.

"We just direct your mischief in a different direction," Rupert said, reaching over and squeezing Ethan's hand briefly once more.

They parked just off Fleet Street. As Rupert slid pound coins into the meter, Ethan wondered why the hell he was bothering; there were surely no traffic wardens working today. The streets were deserted, and although there were lights on in the offices, that didn't mean anyone was in them... of course, the newspapers were still being printed, and not every tabloid or broadsheet had already moved away from this historical ghetto of hacks and newshounds, so maybe there were people in the buildings, after all.

"Ready?" Rupert asked, coming over to where Ethan was standing. He rested a hand against Ethan's lower back, guiding him with a touch. "The entrance is this way."

Rupert was being very gentle with him, Ethan noticed. Easier, he supposed, to look after a loved one than deal with the true horror of what faced them both. He wished he could put his fear to one side too, but he didn't have Rupert's practice at doing so. His healing shoulder was aching for some reason. Ethan had, of course, courted fear and Chaos both for most of his life. There was something deeply ironic about all this for him, but if this were the universe's idea of mockery, he considered it a little too over-done and obvious to be a joke of quality.

Staying silent as he had nothing to say, he let Rupert guide him through the narrower backstreets to stand in front of some tall wrought iron railings. Beyond them lay one of the small historical graveyards that London was still dotted with even now. The churches were bulldozed down and the land 'developed', but often the graveyards remained, small havens of ancient peace in the bustle of the city. Not that there was any bustle today.

"Somehow, I've never been able to get away from graveyards," Giles murmured as he opened the gate, and they went inside.

"With a plot in Buckham churchyard already laid out with your name on it, you're never going to either," Ethan said a little sourly. He hugged his arms around himself as he looked about. Old lichen-covered gravestones piled together against the wall that the graveyard backed onto, bindweed and wallflowers had pushed through the cracked marble of memorial plinths, and few headstones were readable, so worn were they by time, weather and pollution. The whole place was a tomb, a memorial to London's past.

"So far I've always managed to exit the same way I entered, if occasionally a bit worse for wear, so I suppose I shouldn't complain." Rupert led Ethan to the back of the little cemetery where a crypt was standing, looking as old and dilapidated as the rest of the place.

"So we reach this underworld of yours through a tomb?" Ethan asked. "I should have brought my lyre."

"Not quite that mythic an underworld," Rupert replied, his voice and manner staying reasonable despite the increasing nastiness Ethan knew was creeping into his own. "But yes, the entrance is in here."

Rupert's calmness was starting to grate on Ethan's fractured nerves. He knew rationally that Rupert was as upset as he was about it all, more so probably, knowing how much more heavily every single life lost would weigh on Rupert, yet Ethan perversely wanted Rupert to show it. Maybe so he too could use comforting his partner as a way of avoiding the nightmare until they had to face it directly. Or maybe just so they could have a knockdown fight and get this unbearable tension out of their systems.

As Rupert opened the mausoleum door, Ethan stared dourly at his back and asked, "Did it ever strike you that we might fail? That the cosmic prats who selected us for this task might be the equivalent of the Hollywood team who brought us Heaven's Gate, or God forbid, Waterworld?"

Rupert glanced back over his shoulder at Ethan. "Failure isn't an option."

"Oh, and it's just exactly as simple as that, isn't it?"

"Nothing is simple about it. It's the hardest thing in the world, actually."

Ethan's arms slipped into a folded position. "But of course, despite that, you never fail, do you? How many times have you saved the world so far? Shame you have to work with me now. I'm your weak link, Ripper dear; not so much an Achilles heel as a huge, signposted target marked 'hit here'."

"I've failed," Rupert said softly. "And every time I have, someone has died. Even when I've succeeded the price has been... well." He trailed off, his eyes full of ghosts, but then they focused with sharp clarity on Ethan. "You're not my weak link so much as my hidden strength. If I had to face this alone..."

And of course, having won what he wanted, a glimpse of Rupert's true feelings about it all, Ethan immediately felt guilty. "Sorry," he muttered and moved past Rupert to enter the dank stone chamber. "I'm being a git."

Rupert followed him, pulling out a torch and turning it on. "You're trying to deal with something that is impossible to deal with. That's not being a git."

Ethan moved out of the way of the torch beam. "All my years on the other side, I never had a desire to bring on the end times. In fact, I was very far from being an Armageddon merchant. But now... now, I'm meant to be a hero, but I'm going to... If I balls up –and let's face it, if anyone's going to balls up, it'll be me– so if and when I do, the world..." He couldn't actually say it. He couldn't force the words from his mouth.

"You're not going to balls it up." Rupert's voice was sharp as he moved past Ethan and played his light over the far wall. Then he stepped closer and pressed several bricks in a seemingly random pattern.

Ethan clenched his eyes shut and leant against the cold plastered wall. He heard the grating of stone on stone and felt the vibration of something moving. "Remember the last time we stood in a crypt together?"

"Sunnydale. I was going to thrash you; you convinced me having a drink together would be more fun."

"You were so very keen to hit me." Ethan chuckled darkly. "And after I'd been so kind as to get rid of the Demon Prince Barvain for you too."

"I had wondered about that. You do realise that by doing so, you just made me look even more like an old has-been, making things up in order to pretend I had a purpose? Willow and Xander were polite, but they quite clearly thought I was losing it."

A hand fell on Ethan's shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see Rupert, and behind him, a gaping hold in the wall that hadn't been there before. "Well, I hardly did it on purpose to spite you." No, spite had come later.

Rupert contemplated him for a long moment. "Looking back now, it's difficult for me to remember why the idea of thrashing you was so bloody attractive all the times you showed up to pester me over the years. I should've just fucked you up against the nearest convenient wall."

"I always rather thought that was what the thrashing was about actually. Well, hoped. I never quite gave up that hope that one day you'd realise what you really wanted... so of course, when you did, I promptly turned you into a demon." Ethan sighed. "I don't suppose you feel like throwing me against this wall now, do you?"

Rupert leant in and kissed him quite thoroughly. "Part of me always wants to throw you up against the wall and fuck you," he replied conversationally afterwards. "But I fear we really don't have the time for it right now."

The answer was disappointing, but hardly surprising, and it wasn't as if shagging would be anything more than a temporary respite from the knife-sharp anxiety currently tormenting Ethan. "Let's get this done then," he said, pushing away from Rupert.

Rupert caught his hand however before he could get out of reach. "Together," he said simply.

The hand in his, the echo of lips upon his own, just seemed like salt in Ethan's non-existent wounds... Or perhaps they were wounds in posse. He didn't let go of Rupert's hand, however, as they carefully descended crumbling stone steps into a tunnel below.

It was dark, obviously, and the moving torch beam really did little more than emphasise that. It was also cold and damp. Ethan could hear water dripping and other noises that were quite possibly rats. He wasn't bothered by rats, had even considered making himself a familiar out of one once, but somehow the noise of them down here was chilling. He drew his jacket around himself with his free hand and missed his Barbour coat fiercely.

"Cold?"

"No," he lied pointlessly. "Which way?"

"This way," Rupert said, leading him with assurance down the tunnel. "It gets a little less... clichéd creepy as we go on," he added after a moment.

He was right, as quickly became obvious when they turned into a dryer, brick-lined tunnel, which was strangely free of cobwebs. Ethan walked silently, listening to their footfalls echo

"I've wanted to bring you here, show you this place, for quite some time now," Rupert said after a few minutes. "It's... special. It was my own discovery and had nothing to do with the Council or anything else. It was just... mine."

"Another hidey-hole." Ethan tried to speak gently and keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice; he'd been using it rather too much today already.

"I guess so. I do seem to have acquired rather a lot of them through my life."

"I prefer the cottage," Ethan told him as Rupert opened a metal grating, and they passed through. "Never have been all that keen on being underground."

"You were always more one to want to fly than go spelunking," Rupert agreed easily.

"Yes... Not all that likely that a mystical item is going to be stored in, hmm, the Tree-hut of Destiny, though, is it?" Ethan chuckled a little.

Rupert gave him a small smile. "Perhaps we can see about building one of those when all of this is over."

They stopped in front of a heavy looking oaken door. An interesting grid of symbols was carved into it, which Ethan was just starting to figure out as Rupert pressed some of them quickly and the door opened. "This it then?" Ethan asked.

"This is it," Rupert confirmed, holding the door open for Ethan then following him inside.

As they stepped within, the chamber they were entering filled with light. Ethan gave Rupert a sharp look; he hadn't sensed him using magic. "Enchanted effect?"

"Yes." Rupert ran a hand fondly over the nearest wall. "When I found this place it almost seemed to have been waiting for me. It's silly, but the lights... It seemed like a welcome."

Sometimes, Ethan thought that it wasn't so much that he and Rupert had a destiny as it was that Rupert had a destiny, and Ethan was merely a part of it. "What's in all the crates and boxes?" he asked, looking around.

"Artefacts, books, the usual sort of mystical mishmash. Most of it was here when I first came, but those boxes over there," Rupert pointed to a neatly stacked set of large boxes in the far corner, "I added myself. Most of the stuff I expect is little more than junk, but you never know when something will come in handy."

"So you've never gone through them all? There could be anything here." Ethan started to feel a little covetous.

Rupert shrugged. "There just hasn't been the time to go through everything. Especially since a good deal of the intervening years between when I found this place and now I've been out of the country."

The grin Ethan directed at Rupert now only felt a little forced. "Got a crow bar?"

"I left it in my other trousers," Rupert replied deadpan, although there was a hint of humour shining in his eyes.

"And the Bachian crystal is where? Any idea?"

Rupert looked around, obviously thinking. "The more valuable pieces seemed to have been grouped inside the cage," he said, gesturing at the closed off area. "We probably should start there."

Ethan peered through the bars. "Are those crates already opened then? Otherwise, we're still going to need that crowbar... or magic."

"Most of those I have looked through, and the others, well, I doubt a crate is going to stymie us, crowbar or no crowbar." Rupert squeaked open the door, and they went in.

"Is this where that bastard's bag o' badness is?" Ethan asked, suddenly aware of a familiar prickling sensation.

"Up there," Rupert nodded toward an upper shelf at the far end of the space.

Ethan stared uneasily at the Mallon's chest that contained the Chaos artefact, remembering how the bag had been used to almost annihilate Rupert. He wished, briefly, that they'd been able to destroy it, but destroying such powerful items was more easily thought of than achieved. Moving closer to Rupert, Ethan reached out with his magic, just reassuring himself that Rupert's pattern remained tight and coherent still.

Rupert must have felt the magic touch because he took and briefly squeezed Ethan's hand, giving him a reassuring smile. "We're all right," he said softly.

Ethan gave him a weak smile back before turning to look at the crates and other containers. "I suppose we better start then." He moved around the other side of them and slid the lid off the nearest crate. "Shout if anything looks even vaguely crystalline."

"Right." Rupert started with the crates on his side.

Pulling out handfuls of sawdust and old newspaper, Ethan felt for the items inside his crate. "It's like one of those lucky dips from my old school fairs," he said. "Ah look, I seem to have won a, hmm, a pack of Victorian erotica playing cards." He didn't have time to investigate them further, but they had the slightest of magic auras only.

Rupert chuckled. "That would be the sort of thing you pull out first." He was searching through his own crate, picking up and discarding several interesting looking items.

"When we're done with all this bollocks, Ripper," Ethan told him firmly as he reluctantly placed a very intriguing statue of a multi-armed woman to one side, "we're coming back here and spending many long lovely days going through this treasure trove."

"I thought you might feel that way." The grin Rupert shot him then was bright and boyish.

And infectious, Ethan found himself grinning back. He finished emptying his first crate; there was a growing pile of interesting things beside him, but none of them remotely crystalline. "We need that homing ant of yours," he told Rupert as he moved on to another crate. "Or sniffer dogs. We should've brought them, dearheart."

"I'm not sure how they would have coped underground," Rupert said. He'd expressed as much earlier before they'd set out. "But perhaps we can do some kind of locator spell between us?"

"I'll never refuse an opportunity to do magic with you, husband mine." Ethan gladly left off his search and walked back around to stand by Rupert, only to immediately have a pertinent thought and return to the items he'd unpacked. He grabbed one and returned to Rupert. "This should help," he said, holding up the brass pendulum on a chain.

"A replacement for the homing ant?" Rupert teased.

"It's just an ordinary pendulum, far as I can tell, but what better to dowse with?" Freeform improvisation still didn't come as easily to Ethan as it did to Ian, but he had always been capable of appropriate substitution.

"An excellent exchange. Much better than, say, a homing rat."

They really should have brought the dogs, Ethan thought with a small sigh. He lifted the pendulum and looked at it before handing it to Rupert. "We should do this like we did the scrying, I think. I'll make the patterns palpable, you hold the, er, steering wheel."

Rupert nodded. "Should we be standing in the same position? Me behind you? Or perhaps reverse that as that might make it easier to follow the... wheel."

Nodding, Ethan moved behind Rupert and wrapped his arms around him. The contact felt so nice he couldn't resist a friendly rub into Rupert's arse.

Chuckling, Rupert said, "I don't remember that being part of the spell." Nonetheless, he pushed back against Ethan in a way that wasn't exactly discouraging.

Ethan made a small noise in his throat and tightened his arms. "Maybe I should be the one doing the throwing against walls..."

"Christ. Say things like that, and I'll start to forget what we're supposed to be doing."

Suddenly, Ethan was hard and getting harder. He pressed close, moving his lips to Rupert's ear to nibble and murmur, "Want to go for third time lucky, dearheart?"

Rupert groaned in reaction to that. "God, Ethan..."

Ethan had a pretty good idea that what was happening here was that release of tension he'd wanted earlier, but he had no intention of stopping it; it actually felt good to feel in control of a situation. He ground his erection against Rupert's arse and moved his hands down to Rupert's thighs, slipping a little between them and persuading Rupert to part his legs more.

"Want me to take you, Ripper?" he asked, his voice low. He felt a little silly saying it, as if he were wearing a costume not his, but he was too turned on to really care.

"I... would not be adverse to the idea," Rupert replied, the polite words belied by the husky, breathless quality of his voice.

Ethan's groin tightened a little even at the thought of what he was about to do, and he couldn't stop himself thrusting forward once. A little feverish, he looked around the cage for somewhere to fuck Rupert on or against, and his gaze fell on the cage bars themselves. Oh yes, how deliciously kinky.

He let his hands spark with his magic and ran them quickly up and down Rupert's front, including over Rupert's straining erection, which felt impossibly large trapped under the smart trousers. When the magic had Rupert to the point of gasping, Ethan instructed gruffly, "Move and put your hands on the bars, Ripper."

It took a few seconds, but Rupert finally obeyed without protest.

God, this was heady stuff. Ethan followed, fairly ruthlessly crushing worry that he couldn't do this. He'd taken Rupert before, and while, yes, the first time was not a good thing to think about, the second time had been a great deal more successful. And it wasn't as if he hadn't topped hundreds of other men... faceless men who didn't matter and who didn't have the power to turn his resolve to jelly just by looking at him a certain way.

Ah, bugger that. No, bugger this. Ethan ran a hand over Rupert's arse and squeezed, digging his fingers in, then moved his hands around to the front of Rupert's trousers to quickly undo them, letting them fall. "You have a bloody lovely arse, Ripper." Ethan looked appreciatively at it as the boxers followed the trousers. "Strong and sturdy."

Rupert chuckled, the sound wonderfully husky with arousal. "That's a compliment I haven't had before."

Ethan put his hands to Rupert's hips and pulled him back a bit, so the lovely arse in question was sticking out. He ran a finger potent with magic between the cheeks, lightly touching the sensitive skin there.

Rupert gasped, bucking first away, then into the touch.

Judging by his reaction to Rupert's reaction, Ethan realised there wasn't going to be much in the way of foreplay here; his cock was feeling very demanding. With a groan, he pressed his magic-soaked finger into Rupert.

"Yes," Rupert grunted, pushing back into the touch, a not quite mute demand for more.

"God," Ethan muttered, pressing a second finger in and then finger-fucking Rupert hard, imagining it was his cock and getting off a little on that alone.

Rupert was moving with Ethan's fingers, making small sounds in the back of his throat, seeming half lost to everything but the fingers moving in and out of him. Ethan glanced up and saw that Rupert's grip on the bars was white-knuckled.

"Christ, Ripper, Christ. You look so fucking beautiful." Ethan felt overwhelmed. He watched his own fingers disappearing, felt Rupert's muscles move around them, and moaned deeply. He couldn't wait. Promising himself that when they found peace again he was going to take Rupert in a long, luxurious process lasting half a day at least, Ethan pulled his fingers out and undid his own trousers in a fumbling hurry.

Rupert made a small sound of protest at the sudden absence, looking over his shoulder at Ethan with eyes dark with arousal and need.

Ethan knew all too well what Rupert was feeling. "Won't be empty long, dearheart," he promised as he finally got free of his clothing and lined himself up. "Not long at all. There, feel my cock touching you? Feel it pressing?" He was babbling a little, he knew. He gripped Rupert's hip with his free hand. "Feel me pushing in now."

"God, Ethan..." Rupert moaned, holding still as Ethan slid into him, save for a quiet, involuntary tremor that Ethan could feel going through Rupert's muscles.

Ethan was using plenty of magic to ensure he slid in easily, and he could imagine what that was doing to Rupert as he knew what it did to him. He pressed slowly but steadily as deep as he could go in this position. "Ah, Jesus. Ripper. Have you any idea how good you feel? So tight around me, so very tight..."

"Love you," Rupert gasped. "Ethan..."

"Yes, dearest-to-my-heart?" Ethan asked breathlessly as he began to move. The pull on his cock from Rupert's muscles was enough to make him dizzy.

"More." The one word was all but growled.

Ethan heard himself make a noise not unlike a growl himself, and he gripped Rupert's hips and began to fuck him hard. It felt so easy, so right to do this. The second time had been good, but it had still felt odd, a little wrong. This just felt natural. He leant his top half back and looked down, watching himself slamming into Rupert's arse, and he nearly came in reaction. "Fuck, Ripper!" He laughed between his gasps for breath. "I'm fucking you, Ripper. You feel me? Feel me fucking you?"

"I feel you." Rupert gave a breathless chuckle. "Rather hard to miss..."

Ethan laughed again. "Thank you... for your patience... with my... sudden need... to talk like... a porn movie. But Christ, Ripper... oh, so good."

"Yes," Rupert agreed, in his husky, sex-roughened voice. "It's –God!– overwhelmingly good."

Groaning from what felt like the base of his spine, Ethan thrust rapidly, but not even his own –admittedly loose and fracturing– pattern control over his arousal was going to stop him coming soon. He adjusted his posture just enough to reach his hand around to grip Rupert's cock. It felt awkward, but he knew a good rhythm was still possible; Rupert managed just fine like this, after all.

The first touch of his hand on Rupert's cock drew a deep and needy groan from Rupert, who shifted a little, making it a bit easier for Ethan to wrap his fingers around Rupert's erection and stroke.

Although what Ethan was doing could hardly be called stroking. He was too far gone; his touch was rough and fast, matching the thrusts of his own cock. "My Ripper," he muttered, hardly knowing what he was saying. "My Ripper, my Pan, my husband. Mine."

He felt Rupert's reaction to those words go through his body. "Yours," he gasped. "As much as... you're mine, I'm yours."

"Fuck, oh fuck. Going to come, Rupert. Deep inside you. Bugger!" Ethan's vision narrowed to almost nothing as the relentless upsurge of pleasure and tightening carried him towards orgasm. "Come with me?" he asked desperately. "Please?"

Rupert groaned again, the sound rough and desperate. Ethan could no more stop now than stop loving Rupert. He thrust like a mad thing and then froze as his cock started to pulse and acute pleasure made him almost sob.

A split second later, he felt Rupert's climax sweep through him.

As his tensed muscles loosened, becoming trembling and weak, Ethan sank to his knees, moaning as the action pulled him out of Rupert. He sat back, leaning heavily on one hand and wincing slightly as his shoulder, forgotten about during their passion, complained.

Rupert leant more heavily on the bars for a moment then slowly sank to the floor, turning enough to reach out for Ethan, who moved sluggishly to wrap his arms around him.

"...love..." he muttered against Rupert's shoulder.

Rupert wrapped his arms around Ethan in return. "Love you."

They sat like that for a few minutes, recovering their wits, but Ethan quickly became cold. He shivered and stirred, looking around.

It was then that his gaze fell on the little brass pendulum, which must have fallen from Rupert's hand at some point during the shagging. It had rolled against a small casket on the floor. As he reached out to reclaim it, Ethan suddenly froze, laughing.

"Found it!" he said smugly, turning to grin at Rupert.

The casket had three symbols on the side – that of the Pilantine cult who had created the Bachian Matrix in the first place, a perfectly symmetrical hexagonal design that Ethan suspected meant the crystal itself, and perhaps not surprisingly, the symbol Dawn had drawn for him after her dream, the symbol they suspected meant 'Order'.

Rupert looked at the casket for a moment then threw his head back and laughed. "That wasn't exactly the location spell I was expecting, but whatever works..."

"Can't knock the pendulum," Ethan said, tossing it in the air and catching it, then tossing it again to Rupert. He reached out for the casket and drew it close. "Led us right to the prize." As he looked down at the box, however, the glee at finding it and the post-orgasm euphoria rapidly frosted over. Now they had this, there was no way out.

He had to kill Dawn.


	10. Chapter 10

The drive back towards Buckham Hall was as subdued as the drive into London had been, the roadblocks insuring that the traffic jams of that morning had passed. The one moment of excitement, flushed with victory at finding the object they'd come after, had quickly vanished under the weight of what they would have to do with it having found it. And most immediately, what Giles would now have to tell Dawn.

Giles tried not to look at the growing black stain of what had once been Heathrow as they passed it, but he was aware of Ethan staring out of the window as if drawn to the Chaos, something Giles didn't care to think about. Neither of them said anything.

In fact, they both remained silent until they were on the slip-road leaving the M4 and nearly home, when Ethan asked, "Do we have a plan for this?"

Giles took a deep breath. If he hadn't been driving, he'd probably have closed his eyes and taken off his glasses to clean in an effort to keep his emotions under control. "I take Dawn aside and tell her everything."

"Well, you've got that wrong to start with." Ethan's tone suggested a mix of concern and affection.

Taking his eyes off the road for a few seconds, Giles glanced over at Ethan. "We have to tell her. We can't just..."

"Ah, that's better. This time you said 'we'. Well done." Ethan patted Giles' leg in congratulations.

Oh. "You don't have to," Giles finally said. "You've got enough you have to do. I can do this part alone."

"Rupert." The hand on Giles' leg clenched claws into his thigh, and he could feel Ethan glaring at him. "Don't you dare play the solo-martyr here. You agreed we'll do this together. It will be easier on me than you anyway."

Giles doubted that last; it might have been true once, but Ethan had changed. And regardless, that was beside the point here. "I don't know if it would be easier on Dawn that way. If– if it were me, I think I might prefer to not have more of an audience than absolutely necessary."

The hand withdrew from Giles' leg. "So," Ethan said, and the sarcasm was back, "exactly which one of us are you trying to protect here? And don't tell me 'Dawn'."

"Yes, because I can't possibly care about trying to make this as easy as possible for the person who will be forced to sacrifice the most. Fine," Giles snapped, the tension reducing his patience to nothing. "We'll tell her together. Let's bring Xander and Ian in as well while we're at it. We can all loom around her while she finds out that we have to kill her. I'm sure that'll make her feel much better."

He heard movement from Ethan, and when he glanced across, he saw Ethan had his arms wrapped around himself and was staring silently out of the side window. It wasn't until they were driving through Buckham village that Ethan released a sharp bark of laughter. "We're going to fail. If we can't even work in partnership talking to the Key –you know, the thing we're meant to be the sodding guardians of– then Vaurtain's won without..." He broke off and returned his gaze to the side.

Giles couldn't have this conversation whilst driving. He found a place to pull off the road as they left the village proper, stopped the car, and turned to Ethan, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. Ethan shivered under the touch, but didn't turn. Tugging lightly, Giles tried to pull Ethan around and to him. They both needed the contact now, especially if they were going to be discussing... this.

With a tiny sigh, Ethan turned, but his jaw was clenched, and his eyes wouldn't meet Giles'. He leant his forehead against Giles' shoulder, and his whole body felt tense to the point of vibrating in Giles' arms.

Giles nonetheless held Ethan tightly for several long moments before he spoke. "I'm not trying to make this harder," he finally said, speaking softly, but unable to keep the pain from his voice. "Lord knows, that's the last thing I want to do. It's almost impossible as it is."

"Then let me be there." Ethan pulled back enough to meet Giles' eyes. "I won't crowd her or bully her. I won't say a word if that's what you want, will stay at the back of the room, being a good and meek little boy. I have to be there though, Rupert. The patterns... the three of us... can't you see?"

There wasn't much Giles could say to deny that plea, especially with Ethan looking at him like that. "All right," he finally said, sighing heavily.

It still didn't feel right to him, but then none of this did. How could it?

"She understands more than she lets on, you know," Ethan said, voice gentle now he had his own way. He stroked Giles' cheek. "She's studied Keri's prophecy more even than we have. She knows she's the 'nothing' mentioned, and there's all that talk of selflessness... I think that she's waiting for this, that maybe she's been waiting for this ever since, well, Glory."

"That doesn't make it any easier." Giles sighed again, moving so he could rest his head on Ethan's shoulder, allowing himself a moment of weakness. "I'm so tired of sending children to their death."

"Everybody dies, and Dawn's of hero-stock." Ethan sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Giles felt Ethan's hands moving restlessly over his back as he continued. "Better to die doing something huge than as a non-entity, achieving nothing... Or so I've always believed, anyway. Rupert, please don't do this."

"Do what? Care?" He laughed, the sound coming out brittle and strange even to his own ears. "Would that I could stop."

"It's not the caring; it's the taking it all on yourself. The responsibility, the guilt, the burden – this is what you did with Randal, and it's... Well, it's selfish in a way. Greedy." Ethan held on tightly to Giles as he finished talking as if afraid Giles would pull away.

"It _is_ my responsibility," Giles said stubbornly. "In this case, as much because I failed to find an alternative as because it's our place in that damned prophecy."

"It's _our_ responsibility, not just yours. Stop denying me, Rupert. I don't believe there was a way to be found, anyhow; you can't fail if a thing wasn't possible in the first place."

Giles laughed again, bitter and sharp. "We're the Guardians of Balance, of the Key, but to be so, we're the ones who have to kill her. I could do without that kind of irony."

Ethan pulled back, dragging a hand through his hair and wearing an expression of what looked like pain. "No. No, you won't."

Giles gave him a look. "You're not trying to take the responsibility all on yourself after just chastising me for the same thing, are you?"

Ethan snorted. "The ritual to transform her, it's pattern magic. So, no choice about that. Sorry." He gave Giles one of those chirpy smiles that went nowhere near his eyes. The smile dropped, and he sighed. "I know you believe you can fight prophecy, dearheart, but I've always preferred manipulation to head-on confrontation. The Vatican prophecy says that we need Dawn in her innate form, and I don't believe there's anything we can do about that, not really, but..." He raised his eyes again and looked intensely into Giles' as if searching for something.

"But...?" Giles reached out and caressed Ethan's cheek in an instinctive gesture, trying to give Ethan whatever it was he was searching for.

"I'll get her back for you, Rupert. I don't know how exactly, but where there's no prophecy to block me changing things, that's where and when I can act freely. So once we've done it, saved the world and got our heroes' laurels, I'll get her back. I'll make the Key Dawn again. I– I can do this, Rupert, somehow. I promise you. If it's–" Ethan suddenly stopped talking and swallowed hard, looking scared.

Giles pulled Ethan close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. That Ethan would say such a thing, promise such a thing... And he was right, of course. There was nothing stopping them from trying to find a way to reverse the transformation afterwards. He didn't dwell on the odds of them actually succeeding in finding a way because, even if it were one in a billion, there remained that single chance.

Ethan relaxed in Giles' arms at last, although he still seemed very quiet, and when Giles pulled back to start up the car again, he thought Ethan looked rather pale, but then, he suspected he was a little peaky himself.

In a very short time, they were driving through the wards around the Estate. As Rupert drove Matthew's Range Rover around to the garages at the back, Ethan took a long, deep breath and stretched. In the dark interior of the large garage, they sat as the engine noise died away and then Ethan reached out and took Giles' hand from where it was still resting on the handbrake. "Together?" he checked.

"Together," Giles confirmed, squeezing Ethan's hand.

***

"Well, that was a little anti-climatic," Ethan said, sitting down on the edge of their bed. There had been no one in the front of the house to meet them bar Mrs B., not even the dogs. He tapped his fingers restlessly on top of the crystal's casket, currently sat beside him on the covers.

"It's wrong, perhaps, but I can't say I mind the momentary reprieve," Rupert replied, pacing restlessly around their room.

Xander and Kat were patrolling, the dogs with them, and Megan was with their captive, according to Mrs B. Matthew and Pamela were riding, she'd gone on to tell them, this time with a knowing smile. She didn't know where Ian and Dawn were, however, but that Mr Woodson was an odd sort, liked his own company and was quite possibly one of them nudists they had the special beaches for. Had a good appetite though. She liked a man with a good appetite.

Rupert had elicited these gossipy comments whilst Ethan had risked censure by raiding the larder; it had seemed a long time since breakfast. Surprisingly, Mrs B. hadn't told him off when he'd reappeared in the kitchen with a selection of easily portable goodies, just commented that dinner would be in an hour. It was Ethan's guess that the old woman was scared by the news, as who wouldn't be, but hiding it well bar the loose tongue.

Now Ethan was eating a sticky Bath bun as he watched Rupert pace. It was funny, but now they'd finally reached this point, he felt very calm. "Come and sit down with me, dear," he said gently.

Rupert stopped moving, gave him a rueful look, then moved to do as Ethan had bade. "Too much pacing?"

"Yes." Ethan gave Rupert a sugary kiss on the cheek. "You looked like one of those polar bears at London Zoo." Rupert gave a surprisingly good imitation of a bear growl, and Ethan wriggled on the bed slightly. "Mmm, sexy."

That drew a chuckle from Rupert and a return of the kiss on the cheek.

There. That was better. "We're going to survive this, dearheart. We're going to get through."

"It's not us I'm worried about," Rupert said with a sigh, although he also took Ethan's free hand within his own. "Not really. We've been through so much to get to this point; not making it isn't an option. But..."

"I promised you, didn't I? I'll get her back." Ethan grimaced, knowing he didn't sound as confident as he would like to for Rupert's sake, but it wasn't as if he had a choice about this anymore, anyhow. Neatly trapped himself, he had. He'd once asked Rupert if he were the Fool or the Magician. He'd answered that question for himself now. But confident sounding or not, his words seemed to have the hoped for effect on Rupert, who closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and nodded. "You did," he said. "And we will." Some of the heavy weight of responsibility that had been crushing Rupert seemed to have lifted, which was the most that Ethan could hope for really. Pity that that weight was now trying to crush him.

He'd known there was a third promise just waiting for him to make it, but Rupert had looked so... helpless. It was wrong, that. Rupert, of all people, should never look vulnerable in that way. So Ethan had made the promise without thinking, just wanting to make Rupert feel better... and he'd felt the snap of destiny the moment he'd said it, like a mantrap around his leg. Or like a fool suddenly finding no ground beneath his feet, the impact now inevitable.

Without any warning, their bedroom door suddenly slammed open. Finely tuned battle reflexes had Rupert on his feet and bracing for attack before they saw who it was.

Dawn.

Ethan stood slowly, as if not wanting to startle her, which was stupid really.

She knew; that much was obvious. Her face was... Well, it flickered through intense emotions the way only a teenager's could. She paid Ethan almost no attention, just staring at Rupert, somewhere between anger and tears. When she spoke, however, Ethan felt proud of her. She straightened her back and spoke calmly, and if there was a quaver in her voice, he refused for her sake to notice it.

"How long?"

Rupert, when he replied, did so in an equally calm manner, although Ethan knew the turmoil he must be feeling. "We've known for about three weeks. I've been searching for an alternative. We didn't want to tell you until we were sure there was no other way."

"Ian told me; he sees me as a person. You know, someone who can make her own decisions?" Dawn's intense gaze flickered to Ethan, and he gave her a small, uneasy smile before she looked back to Rupert. "You shouldn't have kept this from me, Giles." Her voice cracked on Rupert's name, but she didn't drop her eyes.

"Maybe not," Rupert admitted, still in that calm voice. "But telling you..." He lowered his eyes and some of the pain that Ethan knew he was feeling began to show through the cracks. "It would have felt like admitting that this was the only choice."

"There didn't seem much point in traumatising you with this until we knew it was a surety," Ethan put in gently.

She glared between them both. "And all those people? All the people in those places the Chaos has gotten hold of?" Her brave facade was starting to crack and a loud sob escaped her. "What about them? Could I..." Biting off another sob, she turned away.

Rupert took a few steps towards her, but stopped. "We've had to research how to do... the other as well. Even if we'd told you, we couldn't have done anything any sooner."

"I'm nothing but a... a thing to be protected to you, am I?" She wheeled back around, her hands on her hips. "Well, it just so happens I'm a darn good researcher, Mr. Head Watcher, and if you'd told me –and you'd told the others since all this secrecy crap was just to protect me, wasn't it?– then maybe we could've all got it done in a week instead of three!"

"There are things we have to do, no matter how much they hurt, but asking you to help research how to..." Rupert trailed off, seeming unable to say the words to Dawn's face. "That would have been unnecessarily cruel."

"You're wrong!" She threw the words at him like plates or books. "You're so wrong. This is my life; I get to make the decisions about it. Not you!"

"Dawn." Ethan stepped forward a small way. "It's not that simple. We –none of us in this room at least– have a lot of manoeuvring space here. The prophecy..." She glared at him, her cheeks shining with tears, and he shut up, stepping back again. He had no idea how to deal with this and didn't even know how to react to the knowledge that Ian had spilled the deeply manky beans.

"Am I or am I not human?" Dawn demanded, stepping closer to Rupert. "What am I, Giles? What do you think I am?"

"I think," Rupert said, once again stepping towards her, "that you are a very brilliant, very talented young woman whom I care deeply for and would do almost anything to ensure you have the full long life you deserve."

As Rupert drew closer to the girl, Ethan watched the anger leave her face, leaving obvious fear and perhaps hurt behind. "But I don't get to make my own decisions? Is that it? Buffy was way younger than me the first time she died."

"Yes, well, Buffy enforced her decision by knocking me out so I couldn't exactly stop her," Rupert pointed out wryly.

"Better watch out then," Dawn said with a touch of brave humour... at least, Ethan hoped it was humour. "Ask Xander if I'd do it or not!"

The ghost of a smile touched Rupert's lips. "I remember."

The pair were standing close to each other now, Guardian and Key, or substitute-father and daughter; Ethan supposed he could take his pick. He backed off further, silently.

"You should've told me," Dawn said again, but much more gently.

Rupert gave a helpless half-shrug. "I didn't want it to be real," he replied with raw honesty.

"Neither do I," Dawn said, and with that, finally, she burst into tears.

Rupert didn't say anything else, just pulled her into a hug and let her cry on him.

Time for Ethan to go; he wasn't needed here, and he knew Rupert well enough to know that looking after Dawn would do Rupert a world of good currently. Grabbing the casket from the bed, he snuck to the door, sending, ' _I'm off to find a bad blackbird. Call me if you need me, dearheart._ ' He got a wordless acknowledgement back, but most of Rupert's attention remained focused on Dawn.

Outside in the corridor, the door safely shut behind him, Ethan paused. He clasped his free hand over his face and consciously released some of the tension that had built up within him. All things considered, that had gone very well. Oh, not that they were out of the woods yet. It was one thing Dawn accepting the facts as they were, another thing all together for her to submit to Ethan's magic when the time came, as it would within the next 24-hours unless something changed drastically. But one thing at a time, and that had gone well.

Far better, he suspected, than if they'd broken the news to her themselves.

Right then. If he were a naughty man-crow, where would he be? Ethan decided to start with Ian's usual haunts before getting too creative.

Things were going his way for once as, first place he looked, the study that Ian had all but claimed as his own, he found Ian sitting contemplating the empty fireplace, a large glass of what looked to be whisky in his hand. Shutting the door behind him, Ethan leant on it, just looking at Ian.

"Dawn found you, I take it." Ian didn't look up.

"I don't know whether to thank you or rage at you. Truly."

"Well, if you're looking for my vote..." Ian gave Ethan a brief smile then waved towards the sideboard where the bottles of spirits stood, "I'd say join me for a drink. Or five."

Ethan stared for a little longer and then shrugged. Sod it. Ian had taken a risk, but it had paid off and potentially saved Rupert a lot of angst, and anyway, trying to be angry with Ian was like trying to hold a live eel with buttered hands. He walked over and grabbed a bottle and a glass with his free hand. "We found the crystal."

"I was rather expecting you would." Ian took a large drink of his scotch. "We're running out of time."

"We've run out. We saw Heathrow, Ian." Ethan sat down on the arm of his mentor's chair. "It was pure, raw Chaos – masses of it. Not even in my cruellest dreams..."

Ian held his glass up to watch the light shine through it. "I know. Even here, if I concentrate very hard, I can sense it. It's like... a bad aftertaste that you can't get rid of. Or a sheen of oil sticking to everything, and it's only going to get stronger."

Ethan stared into the unlit hearth. "I haven't really discussed this with Rupert yet, but we have to do the ritual tomorrow. Dawn... Well, quick can be a kindness. We can't wait any longer. After food, I'm going to spend what's left of today preparing. I'd welcome help. With all of it, if you're willing."

"Of course. Anything you need, I'm at your disposal."

Ethan put the bottle and glass on the floor, not wanting to drink now for some reason. Well, he needed his head clear for the preparations, he supposed. He wondered how Rupert and Dawn were getting on, but felt very unwilling to interrupt. "Fancy looking at the crystal with me? We haven't opened this box yet, so we can coo and ahh together."

Ian gave a half-shrug and drained his glass, laying it aside. "Let's see what all the fuss is about then, shall we?"

Standing again, Ethan looked down at Ian. "Floor," he said with a small grin, indicating the surface in question with his head. "Unless you want me to sit on your lap."

Ian looked at him then stood up and moved the chair's cushion to the floor. "This, I think, provides less chance of getting distracted, don't you?"

"What's so terrible about distraction?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow as he settled down beside Ian. "Rupert and I got ourselves nicely distracted earlier, and it led in a rather, hmm, undulating line, straight to finding the crystal."

"I had been wondering what was taking you two so long," Ian remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Ethan played with the lid of the box, not opening it. "You and Derek, did you, um... Well, did you tend to stick to same roles during sex?"

"For the most part. Derek had never even considered the idea of shagging another bloke before he met me, and he was always more comfortable topping. I was up for pretty much anything, top, bottom, or sideways, but I was happy to stick with what he liked." Ian looked at Ethan shrewdly. "Is there a reason for this sudden curiosity?"

Ethan gave Ian what he suspected was a sheepish look. "With Rupert, I've always been the bottom. Almost always."

"I'd ask if you both enjoy it that way, but I think the answer is fairly obvious."

"Rupert likes to be in the driving seat, and I like, well, I like to be in his control. I've had to be self-sufficient most of my life, never able to trust anyone... except my Ripper, of course." Ethan smiled fondly. "I like being able to just let go. but things are changing now, a little. Rupert is learning to be vulnerable with me, and I, it seems, am learning to take control and enjoy it." That went for more than just sex, obviously.

"Doesn't sound like it's a bad thing," Ian observed.

"It's a good thing." Ethan grinned at him. "If new and with far too little time currently to explore, but what happened earlier is quite a big mercy to be grateful for right now." He slid the catch from the box. "All right then, one dynamic crystalline matrix coming up."

"You do realise, my dear boy, that if we weren't so pressed for time, I'd be asking for more details."

Ethan grinned, licking his lower lip. "Strange, that. And I'd be happy to provide them."

Inside the box were coarse curls of wood shavings. Ethan carefully scooped some out until his fingers hit something hard. It felt like a square block of glass. Hmm. Wrapping his fingers over the top of the object, Ethan carefully tipped the box upside down. Wood shavings went everywhere, and when he lifted the box away, Ethan was holding a small wood and glass display case, inside which a carved, flawless, and perfectly clear crystal was held on narrow stalks.

It was in the shape of an ornate key.

"Well now," Ian said wryly. "That's rather blatant symbolism." He reached out to touch the display case. "Pretty little thing, though."

"Suitably enough," Ethan said a little sardonically. "Hard to imagine it's the equivalent of a many, many times to the power of many multi-terabyte hard drive, isn't it?"

"Made to contain the most powerful force in the universe." Ian shook his head. "If we ever needed an example of you can't judge by appearance..."

"It's a thing of Order," Ethan said, reaching out with his pattern senses and finding only sterility and perfect geometric symmetry. "Can't say I like it much."

"Not made of our stuff, that's for sure," Ian agreed. "But that's why we need it. It's not something we'd be able to jury-rig on our own."

"Oh, I don't know." Ethan laughed. "Give me a large enough anthill..."

**Author's Note:**

> So very many thanks go to Wesleysgirl and mpoetess for staunch and reliable betaing throughout this massive project.


End file.
